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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789609">Stark Customs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Best Friends Dad, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Little Peter, Loss of Virginity, M/M, No Beta, No Daddy Kink, PTSD, Peter is 15 going on 16, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Teen Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is 35 going on 8, Tony Stark is a mechanic, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy amount of, We Die Like Men, because honestly his life is a complete mess, don’t try me, emphasis On burn, hes also very bad at this whole being a dad thing, no powers, now featuring, peter and Morgan are best friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:21:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peters first friend in his new school is a spitfire of a girl named Morgan Stark. She’s dark haired, big green eyes and might be responsible for half the sophomore class having unachievable standards. Peter, she says, is the first boy to treat her like more than a priceless painting or a dainty glass figurine. Only Peter knows the stubborn, brilliant mind that would rather have her arms covered in grease while she rebuilds a carburetor in her dads customs shop than take part in things like dance or music like a normal teenage girl. Not that Peter has much room to complain, not when Mr. Stark wears less and less layers as New York is blanketed in summer heat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! I have been MIA from most of my fandoms for quite some time and I’m a new mom (my daughter is almost five months old, yikes) so be easy on me when it comes to posting because I’m doing my very best.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">The locker slamming beside Peter doesn’t startle him, no, <em>he’s got more dignity than that</em>, or so he tells himself. Morgan is having one of her days where she’s convinced even the sunrise and the birds chirping are out to get her. Most of the time she isn’t wrong, a bird pooped on her last week. She’s got a right to hate the nasty creatures.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I swear to <em>god</em>, if I get one more anonymous letter in my locker from some dumb jock I’m going to silicone the slots closed.” She groans heavily and tosses her overly heavy bag into Peters scrawny arms. He won’t admit aloud that he almost drops it but Morgan doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too agitated with the stupidly sappy letter in her hand. It’s on the same card stock paper as last week, without lines to guide which says the person writing them has a steady hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Or we could set up a camera, catch whoever it is? Tell them to stop?” He tries, lifting her bag over his shoulder while his book satchel hangs off his left. It used to be Bens when he worked for the paper. May gave it to Peter for his fourteenth birthday with tears in her eyes and a proud smile on her lips. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh! We could put them in the school news paper.” She lifts her hands up in two right angles, framing them, squinting one eye and leaning against Peter like he can picture it the way she does. Like anyone could have a mind like Morgan Stark. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Airhead caught red handed harassing young woman. Young woman is suspended for kicking him in the balls.” She recites likes she’s reading from the Tuesday school paper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter takes the note from her hand and hands her bag back. He wonders if it’s heavy from books or maybe she brought a project to school again. “I hardly think public humiliation is a fitting punishment for admiring you from afar.” He rolls his eyes and glances over the surprisingly nice hand writing, elegant cursive written with a nice gel pen.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s2"> <em> <b>Beauty beyond compare</b> </em> </span>
  </p>
  <p class="p2">
    <em>  </em>
  </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s2"> <em> <b>Eyes like stormy seas at sunset</b> </em> </span>
  </p>
  <p class="p2">
    <em>  </em>
  </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s2"> <em> <b>I’d slay a dragon for you</b> </em> </span>
  </p>
  <p class="p2">
    <em>  </em>
  </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s2"> <em> <b>I’d let you hold me under rising tides just to feel your fingers on my skin</b> </em> </span>
  </p>
  <p class="p2"> </p>
</blockquote><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Why is Morgan always so bothered by the letters? If someone wrote such romantic words about skinny, boring Peter he’d probably shit himself. He’s barley worth a damn valentines card, let alone such eloquent ballad. “I think it’s sort of sweet. They must really pay attention to you if they can describe the color of your eyes like that. Hey-who have you been letting gaze into your eyes?” He quirks up an eyebrow and has to skip to keep up with Morgan.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">All work, no play. And by no play, Peter means no slowing down for your asthmatic best friend. “Stop <em>romanticizing</em> my stocker, Pete! This is serious stuff. This week it’s ‘<em>I’d move a mountain for you</em>’ next week it’s ‘<em>I’m going to hide your body in the mountains</em>’.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Does Morgan know how overly dramatic she sounds or is it just Peter? “You’ve never been in love before have you?” Morgan slows considerably and glances over at Peter with an uncomfortable gaze and a wobbly lower lip but doesn’t elaborate on the topic. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Are you coming over or what? My dad is making Shepard’s pie for dinner.” Damn Morgan for knowing an offer of food could distract Peter like a cat with a shiny object. <em>Or like dangling Mr. Stark In front of Peter</em>, but Peter lies to himself that it’s the food. Yeah, whatever makes him feel less like a pervy friend.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uh-yeah, May picked up another shift tonight so I don’t think I’ll see her till morning.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That is, if she hasn’t made it to bed before he heads home. He’ll be lucky to catch her before she heads to work tomorrow too. He can’t remember when’s the last time he sat down to a proper meal with her. He’s been living off ramen and garlic eggs and toast for weeks now. May has been working as much as possible at the hospital to barley make rent and Peter has been looking around for odd jobs to earn a few bucks since he’s not old enough to start working until his birthday in two months. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Come on Parker! If we’re quick my dad might buy me a new socket set off the Snap-On truck!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Peter can hardly contain his excitement. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Three hours later Morgan has successfully conned her dad into not only a new socket set, but a new impact driver to match. Peter had watched longingly as the man handed over large amounts of cash to make his little girl happy. Peter envied her, maybe just a little. Not in a <em>“I want to be in your shoes”</em> type of way. God no, pinning after your own father is all fun in games when your two hours deep in a Pornhub Premium free trial but not out in the real world. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No, he envies the attention. Peter likes to chalk that up to his own lack of a father figure and how touch starved he’s been for years. No affection on any level other than May’s long shaky hugs and kisses to his cheek when she tells him to keep his chin up, that she’s proud of him for holding it together. But Mr. Starks eyes light up with adoration and pride when he gives Morgan the new tools. Peter wants Mr. Stark to look at him like that, like he’s his most prized position, a treasure for his eyes only. Like he does Morgan but maybe with a little forbidden lust and taboo desire weaved into his dark gaze. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But those are all prepubescent hormones talking and Peter knows it because there is nothing in common between him and his best friends dad. Mr. Stark his all hard line, deep colored tattoos lining his arms and usually dripping in sweat and grease. The man smells like whiskey and cigarettes and expensive Cologne. He has the same sea green eyes as Morgan and messy toddler hair that’s occasionally coated in engine sludge. Peter is skinny with soft muscles and even softer hands. His shiny curls are always clean and he give himself manicures for fuck sake. Him and Mr. Stark are polar opposites, <em>day and night</em>, but Peter wants him to smear grease across his baby face while he clutches his chin in one hand and bites down hard on his lower lip. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Today Mr. Stark is rebuilding a 82’ Subaru Brat from nearly the ground up. Peters not entirely sure what that means but Morgan tries her best to explain every question he has. She’s sitting cross legged on the frame of her engine compartment with her new impact in hand as she pulls the head off her 72’ Monte Carlo. It’s candy apple red because that’s the color her mom always wanted it and Morgan is a stickler for vintage. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So, how come I’ve never seen a newer car in here? If your dad is a mechanic how come he only focuses on old beaters?” Which is probably something he’s heard come out of Morgan’s mouth once in a while when she talks about her dads inability to live in the future. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“He doesn’t even need to be a Mechanic, he just enjoys doing this. Keeps him busy. He could stop tomorrow and have enough money to live comfortable for like, years. When I was thirteen he sold some patten after a car fell on him and crushed his chest?” Peter glances over at the man who has the car sitting on a lift while he works from below. Peters always been curious about the round glowing light that sticks off the mans chest but he’s never had the courage to bring it up. He can see it clearly under the thin white tank top. He takes another glance at Morgan who is fast at work before letting his eyes wonder again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His biceps flex with ever near turn of the bolt he’s trying to loosen under the car. Morgan is too caught up in her own work that Peter can get away with ogling a little longer. Mr. Stark is something else in the bright artificial lighting in the shop. A hook light hanging from the frame illuminates half the mans body in a yellow glow that does his sweat slick biceps a world of good. Peter wants to run his tongue across them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>First of all, ew, Parker. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark has a number of tattoos lining his body, some Peter hasn’t gotten close enough to actually make out, but the once’s gets does understand are beautiful. He has a few old school looking cars, some checkered flags and Morgan’s name in beautiful writing across his forearm. Peter wants to study the beautiful artwork, run his soft fingers over the raised ink. He wants to watch the tattoos on Mr. Starks left hand disappear inside-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Son of a bitch!” The older man curses, knocking his knuckles into the transmission and drawing blood from them. Morgan doesn’t flinch and Peters spent enough time in the shop to know it’s more than normal for one of them to cut themselves open. Is the old scars on Morgan’s hands are anything to go by, it happens often. He jumps up from his seat and finds the super glue where he saw Morgan put it down last. He snags the shop rag from Morgan’s back pocket even though she protests audibly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Here, Mr. Stark.” <em>Woah, who’s voice is that?</em> Peter doesn’t recall his ever having such a small voice. The man eyes him carefully before retrieving the items. Peter wants to say he felt electricity shock through him when the mechanics rough fingers grazed his but it was so quick that Mr. Stark acts like it burns. It probably does, touching a fifteen year old with big puppy eyes and a nibbled raw lower lip. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thanks, kid.” This close, Peter can spot a pair of dog tags hanging from a smooth chain, accompanied with what looks like a wedding band. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan has told him how her mother died when her dad was on his second tour in Afghanistan. They had been divorced not long after Morgan was born, but that happens when your married at eighteen because someone got pregnant. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You need something?” When Peter looks up, Mr. Stark has an eyebrow quirked at him and his knuckle is in his mouth where he sucks it clean. <em>Christ</em>. “Uh-no-sorry.” He stammers and swallows hard but his feet don’t take him anywhere because Mr. Starks eyes are on him for longer than they ever have been before. God, they are beautiful this close-he’s beautiful this close. Peter is so close he could probably reach out and run his fingers across the glowing ring on his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, if I gave you some money, you think you could go pick up some Pizza? You can take one of the cars.” The man draws his eyes away and reaches into his pocket like he’s fishing for his wallet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I uh-I actually can’t drive, Sir.” He tells him shamefully and twines his hands together in front of him, hoping to appear small so the dark man in front of him might not push the subject. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s okay, kid, just do the speed limit and you shouldn’t get pulled over. Morgan was driving for years before she got her license.” God, the way he chuckles at the end makes Peters chest vibrate. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No, it’s not that I just...I don’t know how to drive? My aunt doesn’t have a car, I’ve never even...sat in a drivers seat before. Morgan’s offered before but I would be too nervous to try.” He’s got to get this uncontrollable rambling under control. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I can just go dad. As long as you let me drive the corvette.” Thank fuck for Morgan Stark, always there to save Peters day. “I’ll be able to hear you for a couple blocks Incase you get a hair up your ass, don’t forget that.” Mr Stark pulls a set of keys off his chain and hands them over. Peter is about to trail after her but there a searing hot hand on his shoulder to stop him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I could use this young mans help lowering this tranny out, why don’t you stay here, get your hands dirty for once.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter physically shivers at the words and shoots a look to Morgan who doesn’t seem to read the situation quite the way Peter does. She waves and struts out of the shop and that just leaves Peter and the physical embodiment of all his fantasies.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark is quiet for a long time as he gets back to work and Peter doesn’t have any option but to stand there, kicking his feet in the metal shavings and dirt on the shop floor. “Come here.” The mechanic says without a single glance, holding into a piece of metal Peter hadn't noticed hanging a few seconds before. “Hold this up for me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter does as he’s told and luckily it’s not too heavy, but his breathing isn’t labored because of his working muscles. Mr. Stark is right behind him, unbolting another section of the transmission. The new weight takes him surprise and he nearly drops the loud yelp.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uh-Mr. Stark this is,” he grunts and changes his footing. “This is really heavy.” He strains. The man backs away and panic courses through Peters veins. His once labored breathing is coming out in shallow rasps and pants. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So, Mr. Parker, I’ve been curious. My daughter is quite a handful. I’m not entirely sure a young man of your stature can handle her wild streak.” Oh god, what is this? Is Peter getting ‘<em>the talk</em>’?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I just don’t see my daughter being interested in a boy who knows nothing about cars. Can’t even drive one for that matter. So that had my gears turning. I though, what could my daughter see in someone who doesn’t share anything in common with her.” The man is leaning against his rolling tool box, arms crossed over his chest. He’d look delicious if Peter wasn’t struggling to keep his own body weight up, let alone a whole transmission. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“But then it hit me! Maybe it’s not a emotional attraction, you guys are teenagers, that sort of thing happens pretty early these days.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Where is this going? Is this panic because of the heavy weight and his difficulty breathing, or the direction of this conversation?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Are you having sex with my daughter, Mr. Parker?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter slips and the protruding joint on the transmission cuts into is shirt, slicing open his chest at least a inch and a half long. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What? No!” He pants. “Mr. Stark, please this is really heavy.” He’s using one knee to support the bottom half of the transmission that still isn’t dissembled enough to fall to the ground. It would probably break something if he dropped it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Answer the question young man.” Mr. Stark still hasn’t moved, Jesus why can’t he see that Peter is weak and frail and obviously struggling. He feels like his muscles are tearing and his shoulders are weeping. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mr. Stark I’m gay!” Peter says it with all he’s worth and the transmission slips a bit further, cutting into him further. “Please! Mr. Stark I can’t hold it, please.” His eyes burn and prickle with tears threatening to seep down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When the weight of the tranny is lifted off him, Peter falls onto his ass in a wet puddle of oil and the tears finally spill down his cheeks. He can hear the familiar sound of the impact putting a few bolts in the tranny to hold it up before there’s a hand sweeping over his curls. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey-shit kid, I’m sorry.” Peter wished he could soak up the gentle words and tender caresses but he can’t see through the panic overtaking his body. He can’t breath and he can’t recall where his inhaler is. He tries to draw in a breath but it makes his chest rattle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark scoops him up and walks him to what he’s pretty sure is his office where he sets him down in a chair. “Hey, Parker, I need you to look at me, take a deep breath. Do you have an inhaler? Can I look for it?” He asks. Peter must nods because a few seconds later there’s large hands patting his upper thighs, searching for the device.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Christ, Peter is going to be so mad at himself for not searing that feeling into his memory forever. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark finds his inhaler in his back pocket, <em>(again, with the touches he’ll never remember)</em> and pressed it to his mouth. “Take a deep breath for me kid,” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter does as he’s told and it takes a few moments for his chest to settle and for the tears to start to dry on his cheeks leaving red lines and puffy eyes behind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Jesus, kid. You scared the hell out of me.” The man slumps down to the floor in front of the chair and runs his fingers through his mused hair. “I’m the biggest asshole in the world, huh? Hand a hundred pound transmission to a asthmatic teenager, smart thinking.” He speaks mostly to himself at the last sentence but Peter understands his guilt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s okay, Mr. Stark.” The slice in his chest burns and Peter sticks a finger in the hole of his favorite graphic tee. The cut is dripping blood down his stomach and his jeans are ruined with the oil all over his ass. “For the record, Morgan is...very beautiful and spirited and anyone would be lucky to have her but Uhm, me and her are just friends. She’s my only friend and my aunt is always working so I just-follow her around. I promise I’m not trying to...do that with your daughter.” <em>Just you</em>. He doesn’t add, luckily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Let’s get you something else to wear, I’m so sorry kid. One day that’s going to work on some idiot but I should have known you were too...<em>little</em>. To try that shit on, I mean.” He stands and holds a hand out of Peter which he takes to stand. Now that his mind is back in the same realm as his body he can file away the warmth of the mans fingers for later review. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Maybe don’t tell my daughter about this? She’ll kill me if she finds out I’ve been threatening possible boyfriends and her friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter agreed and waits in the shop bathroom for Mr. Stark to come down with some sweats and a old grease stained shirt from the penthouse above the shop. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When Morgan gets back with the pizza he’s wearing a permanent pink hue to his cheeks and tells her he slipped in the oil like a idiot. Mr. Stark doesn’t look at him till they are sitting across from each other several hours later at dinner. His eyes are slightly less hard.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s looks worried, apologetic and... <em>intrigued</em>?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! I’m going to touch down in a few things people mentioned in the comments. I know I describe Tony’s eyes as green in this and someone brought up the fact that RDJ’s eyes are (mostly, arguably) brown. He does have a lot of golden honey and green in his eyes so green is the description I’m going to run with because Morgan has green eyes and she’s supposed to be a splitten image of her dad. </p><p>Also, in my world, Tony was 18 when Morgan was born and Morgan is 16 now, which would make Tony about 34. 35 after tonight 😂</p><p>WARNINGS: this chapter has excessive alcohol abuse and a little bit of homophobia if you squint.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It’s only a handful of days later that Peter is back at the Starks, this time upstairs in their penthouse. Morgan and Peter stayed after school for a football game that Morgan crossed her arms and groaned about the entire time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2"> “I don’t want to drool over the football players as much as you, Parker.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“It’s called school spirit, Stark.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Two hours later and Morgan invited him out to dinner with her and her dad. Of course, again, Peter couldn’t pass up fo(<em>Stark</em>)od. She’s busy trying to figure out which crop top pairs best with her frayed too-baggy jeans and convers. “Hey Morgan, can I ask you something kind of personal?” She’s pinning her hair up in her black lacy bra. Peter can admire the beauty of her body and if he was even a tiny bit straight he would be enjoying the view. Instead, he’s busy reading the last paragraph of the novel he’s been stuck on.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Only if I get to ask one back.” She makes eye contact with him through the mirror and smirks. Her question can’t be any more loaded than Peters so he fires away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How come your dad doesn’t have a girlfriend? I’ve been coming over for a while now and I’ve never seen anyone. You’ve never mentioned one, either.” He’s known Morgan for an entire school year and half the previous summer. They had met when Peter was brand new to Brooklyn. They were both in the same deli about to fight over the last loaf of Rosemary-parm bread. In the end, they split their sandwich and bonded over Syfy movies.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t...actually know.” Peters rarely seen Morgan’s confident facade slip. She pulls the red tight top over her body and sights at her reflection. “My dad had a few girls around when I was like thirteen. I didn’t even know their names, I would just see them leaving. But he hasn’t had anyone over for a couple years.” She shrugs her dainty shoulders and sets on the bed beside Peter. “I think it makes him feel guilty, about my mom. And for them, like he’s got too much baggage. This might be kind of <em>TMI</em> and,” she glances over at him and it’s then that Peter realizes she’s wearing sparkly lipgloss and some mascara. She never wears makeup, she doesn’t need it. She gets her looks from her Dad for sure. “Kind of weird to know about your dad, but I don’t even think he’s had sex in like, a long time. He’s home every night, never leaves the house. Thanks to amazon he can have everything he wants delivered. The only time I can get him out is when we’re going to dinner so think of this as a rare occasion.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s not what Peter expected to hear at all. He assumed, maybe Mr. Stark spent his weekends at the bar, picking up beautiful women. Surly he could, he has to know how devastatingly beautiful he is. But spending years alone? With not a soul to warm his bed? To kiss his strong shoulders? To pet his soft locks after a long day? That’s no life for such a perfect specimen to live. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“My turn. How come you never see your aunt? Is it because of what happened to your uncle?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Okay, ow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter wasn’t prepared for such a invasive question but a promise was a promise. He got the information he wanted, which was probably far more than he deserved. Morgan was asking for his own well being, Peter asked because he wants to perv on her dad. What kind of friend did that make him?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uhm...honestly, I’ve never admitted this to...anyone. Even MJ and Ned don’t know.”He’s facetimed with them all before so his childhood best friends could rest easy knowing he was watched out for. He’s sure Morgan and MJ would be a crazy hot power couple. “I think she blames me, for Bens death? The day Ben died I begged him to walk me to the corner store so I could get some ice cream with my allowance money. There was this drive by and he...he shielded me with his body. I didn’t move for a half and hour until the paramedics pulled him off of me.” Peter can feel his eyes stinging and he tries to blink the tears away, sucking in air through his nose. Morgan’s hand claps over his shoulder and squeezes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Peter...you don’t have to keep going.” She says softer than he’s ever heard the older girl speak. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He hiccups and rubs the tears off his long lashes. “No it’s okay, it’s good, I need to talk about it.” He takes a deep breath to continue. “May was so angry at me after that. She didn’t want to talk to me. She could barley...console me, because she couldn’t stand to look at me. Our relationship has never been the same. I don’t blame her, I would probably-I...<em>I hate myself for it too.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">By the end of it Peters in full blown tears. Morgan has her arms wrapped around him protectively. He’s had an easier time connecting to Morgan than he ever did MJ and Ned back home. They were friends from years of constant contact, from their shared interests in middle school and an ability to stand up for each other. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan was his friend because they could handle each others challenging attitudes. They could handle each others overly strong emotions with grace and understanding.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes are about dried up when there’s a knock on the door but no one enters. Mr. Stark is something else when it comes to Morgan’s privacy. The only time Peter has seen him over step was the time he interrogated him a few days ago. Never once has the man made a snarky comment about his daughters obviously controversial clothes or her choices in lifestyle. He’d bet most of his class couldn’t get away with the things she wears, but Peter has never heard Mr. Stark comment. He respects her as her own person.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Come in!” Morgan quips and pulls back from Peter, reaching out to wipe away a tear. The door cracks open and Tony pokes his head inside. “Uh-hey, reservations are at eight. You guys ready to go?” He checks his watch and adjusts the sleek glasses on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Sweet gods and goddesses. </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">All the air in Peters underdeveloped lungs rush out at once. Mr. Stark is wearing a grey waistcoat and a black pattern shirt with the sleeves rolled up so his tattooed arms are on display, freshly shaved and moisturized. His hair is clean but still unruly, in a way that looks like he did that on purpose just to drive Peter mad. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter feel drastically underdressed and unprepared. He’s got on his nicest shirt which happens to be plain black from a three pack may bought him at Walmart and a pair of dark khakis. If he’d have seen himself standing beside Mr. Stark in his mirror earlier in his bedroom he would have hid under the covers and tell them he’s got the flu. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But he can’t go back on that now and he sure as hell isn’t going to fake throw up to get out of this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan stands and pulls Peter up with her. “Hey, Parker, you okay kid?” It’s not often the Mr. Stark has a readable look on his face, every time Peters made eye contact with him his features have been hard and emotionless but tonight there a break in the damn. His walls are down for once and he looks concerned. It makes Peters stomach flutter, if he opens his mouth his heart might fly out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I-uh-I’m okay Mr. Stark. Just swapping sob stories is all.” He brushes out the wrinkles in his shirt and swears for a split second Mr. Starks eyes drag over him. Morgan is checking herself in the mirror one more time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You ready pumpkin?” He turns his attention to his daughter and smiles. Damn this man, he’s going to take Peters breath away all night isn’t he?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dad...you only call me that when you’ve been drinking.” Her face is stern and unapproving in the mirror. Peter takes a keep breath and sure as shit, he can smell it on his hot breath. Toothpaste and whiskey. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">It smells delicious.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I had one drink! And besides, it’s my birthday. You know damn well your uncle is going to be there, he’s not going to let me get through this night without a few drinks.” Morgan looks at him unimpressed. “Which is why I ordered a Uber. So if we could get a move on,” he gestures towards the door but Peter feels like his feet are glued to the carpet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Woah, wait, it was his birthday?</em> Peter was severely, severely underdressed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I know how you get when your drunk. If you embarrass me I won’t hesitate to leave you there.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She’s the first to exit the room and Peter planned on following, he did, but most of Mr. Starks chest blocks the door way and unlike Morgan, Peter doesn’t feel quite comfortable brushing past him. “Don’t let her get you in a sour mood. She’s got too much of her mother in her.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter stumbles after the pair as they make their way out to the car waiting for them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">The restaurant actually turns out to have a well stocked bar because Peter watches Mr. Stark and his (brother?) throw back drink after drink despite Morgan’s best efforts to control them. Peter does his best to wear a brave face when the mountain of a man across from him makes eye contact with him. He supposes the broody man looks a little like Mr. Stark. In the sense that they both have dark hair, dark eyes and sharp jawlines.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They both got rather large doses of the sexy gene because if Peter wasn’t already infatuated with Mr. Stark, then he would be a easy target.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uncle Buck, please put some senses into him! I don’t want to carry him into the house. All I have for help is Peter and he’s not dragging my plastered dad inside with me.” Peter has never seen Morgan so agitated in all the time he’s known her. He’s also never seen Mr. Stark so loose and carefree, handing out genuine smiles like they are hard candy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t mind Morgan, really-“ Mr Stark lands his hand down on the table a bit too loudly to interrupt. The couple next to them shoots them a questioning glare. Peter wants to growl at them to mind their own business. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“He’ll be fine!” He drags out the last syllable. “You should have seen him when I dropped a tranny on him last week. He can handle little old me.” He orders another round of seven and sevens.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>I can handle you just fine.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter let’s his mind wonder a little bit. What it would feel like to have Mr. Starks alcohol fueled hands against his skin. To stumble into the house and shove him onto the couch with a tongue in his throat, licking every ounce of bitter liquor from his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan has her head in her hands beside him and is breathing like she wants to scream or cry. Maybe a little mix of both.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Starks brother is adding fuel to the fire by clapping Mr. Stark over the shoulder and smirking. Peter hadn’t noticed the cool metal glint of his arm until the fingers squeeze into Mr. Starks hard muscle. “Woah-is that a prosthetic?” He scoots closer in his seat before wincing. <em>God he’s so inconsiderate</em>. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t worry about it! Here,” he rolls up the sleeve of his dress shirt and grins. His teeth are blinding and his hair does things to Peters lower half. “Tony built it for me after I lost it during our last tour. S’ where we met. Been my best friend ever sense. Go ahead, you can touch it.” He wiggles his fingers and the smooth metal clicks together. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Ah, brothers in arms. Pun intended.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter takes the appendage in his hand and examines it closely. Mr. Stark built this? Peter thought he only worked on cars, but this sort of craftsmanship requires honed skills and vast resources. “You control it? So it’s like, connected to your nervous system or what? How do you even maintenance it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky flexes the fingers for him and takes a drink of his cocktail. “Actually a friend of ours, Steven, he’s a Neurosurgeon in Seattle. He helped Tony with the whole nervous system re-wiring. I actually have limited feeling, too. Your hands are warm and a little sweaty.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter yanks his hand back like Bucky burned him but the man chuckles, obviously amused (<em>holy shit</em>) before nudging Tony. “He even helped build the reactor a few years later.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark draws Peters attention like a fly to honey when he starts to unbutton the top of his dress shirt to reveal his bare skin underneath. The dim blue light now lights up the table and the look on Mr. Starks face says <em>‘look what I did, look how proud I am</em>’.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing fancy like Buckys arm but it keeps my heart pumping.” He rasps on the plate with his knuckles and it makes a soft humming sound. It’s so beautiful, Peter could stare forever. He wants to take it apart, agonizingly tiny piece after another. Just to learn what this mans brilliant mind is capable of.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s...beautiful, Mr. Stark.” When Peter glances up to meet Mr. Starks eyes the are glassy and obviously swimming in alcohol, but they are also trained on Peters slightly slacked jaw. He licks his lips to test his limits and Mr. Starks eyes snap up to his where they remain for just a moment past innocent, a second away from indecent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t entertain him Peter. He gloats when he’s drunk. I’m going to go have a smoke because you,” she points at her dad and scoots out of the booth. “Stress me the fuck out. Twenty more minutes and we’re out of here so you better have it together when I get back.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">If Peter didn’t know any better he’d say she sounded like a mom scolding her overly cocky man-child. Because that’s sure as shit how she looks at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter sits his ass back down when Bucky raises an eyebrow at him in a wordless judgment. He’s one of the guys for once, it makes him feel powerful and like someone actually enjoys his company other than Morgan. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So, are you like, Morgan’s boyfriend or something? Don’t think she’s ever mentioned you before but you seem like a smart kid.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Oh yikes, here they go again with the accusations. Before he has time to defend himself, Mr. Stark slugs him in the arm. “Hey! I already tried this. Remember how I said I dropped a transmission on him? I thought it would make interrogating him more threatening. He still said “please and thank you, Mr. Stark.”” a foot nudges him under the table and he can’t be sure if Bucky stretched, Mr. Stark slipped or if was something all too purposeful.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter won’t admit to blushing very often, usually he has more control over his features after years of controlling his face in front of May so he doesn’t give anything away. But with Mr. Starks eyes bearing down on him, his lower lip sucked between his teeth where his oh so adorable bunny teeth sink in, Peters face feels like it’s on fire. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So? Are you guys a item or is it just-“ Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. “Peter doesn’t play for that team, buck. Guess it took dropping a transmission on him to figure it out. I could have sworn my gay-dar was so much better.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Ouch</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tony! Jesus, man. What is it with you straight people? What the fuck is a ‘gay-dar’? Where do I sit on this make believe little chart of yours?” Bucky glances over at Peter and offers a reassuring smile so the embarrassment and hurt must be sweeping across his face by now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Not only is Mr. Stark straight, he is painstakingly so. “Wore panties for Steve last night, you have a gay-dar for that too, jackass?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Ten minutes later and they are off in a heated argument and if half the establishment wasn’t already leaving for the night, they would be now. The waiter tells them politely that they will be closing sooner than expected as a nice way to get them to leave, but Mr. Stark is far past intoxicated and Bucky isn’t too far behind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter feels trapped across the table from them, his stomach turning and lurching into his throat. He started to drown the men out so he didn’t have to continue to hear the words pouring out of Mr. Starks mouth. He’s straight, of course he’s straight, because why in the hell did Peter think he could manage to hook such a man? Who does he think he is, other than plain, dull, boring Peter Parker and what kind of chance did he stand winning over Tony fucking Stark. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">God, he’s so stupid. So young and naive. Just a dumb little kid chasing after a grown man and silly dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan makes it back before the tears start to fall so the added anger to the argument pulls Peter out of his head. “The car is out front.” She crosses here arms at the men while pulling money out of what looks like her dads wallet to pay the bill before tossing it back to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“One more pumpkin, I promise.” He slurs, at some point his and Buckys argument turned friendly and they are laughing together again but it doesn’t help sooth the ache in Peters chest. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Get in the fucking car dad, or I will drag you out of this place. Don’t try me.” Her beautiful features are pulled up into a glare and she’s beat red with anger. Peter wouldn’t get in her way right now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky must feel the same way because he stands up on shaky legs and tugs on his brothers arm. “Come on, we can continue this back at your place so the kids don’t have to drag our old asses around.” Mf. Stark accepts the offered hand and drags himself to his feet but he’s worse off on balance than Bucky was and he tumbled into him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peters never seen him like this and he doesn’t think he wants to again. “Dad, Jesus your hammered. I can’t believe you.” Morgan turns and leaves the slightly less inebriated man to carry his friend out of the restaurant, which goes as one can expect.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That leaves Peter with a arm slung around his shoulder and Mr. Stark mistakingly stepping into the side of his shoe as he tries to keep himself straight. “Mr. Stark, I think you should probably go to bed, no offense Mr. Bucky.” Morgan is already in the car when they get out of the building and onto the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’s with the Mister all the time, huh? Why can’t you just call me Tony? It’s always ‘Mr. Stark’ this and ‘Mr. Stark’ that.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter chooses to ignore the man, instead helps Bucky get the older man into the car. The ride back consists of Mr. Stark wiggling around in the tiny seat where he’s pressed up against Peters right ride with Bucky on the other. Morgan sat in the front to ignore her dad which left Peter in the fire. He doesn’t blame her, she looks embarrassed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey-why do you have such fluffy hair?” Mr. Starks breath smells like alcohol and his eyes look empty and red. Like the man he was isn’t even in there. His left hand reaches up and cards through Peters hair and the young man uses every ounce of self control he has so not to make a idiot of himself and moan.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark is drunk and painfully Straight, he’s not meaning for that to sound so flirtatious. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uh-I condition, sir.” He swallows. He knows they aren’t that far from the shop. He can handle this a little longer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Man I was never this pretty at your age. Huh Buck? I was a homely kid.” Both him and his brother laugh and the hand disappears before they are back to talking about ‘good old times’.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter wants to cry from the emotional whiplash Mr. Stark has been handing out all night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">When they get back to the shop, Peter has to help Bucky inside while Morgan drags her dad alongside her. She’s less careful and he falls to his knees, laughing when he stumbles over some decorative ro</span>cks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She groans loudly and trusts her hands into her hair. Peter knows there’s tears on her face and she’s frustrated beyond belief. “Morgan, go inside, I’ll help them. Really it’s okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And usually she’d fight him but right now she looks exhausted and fed up so she heads inside with a sob leaving her throat. Bucky leaves Peters side and seems a bit more capable of making it to the door than Mr. Stark could ever be in this state. He disappears inside so Peter leans down to help Mr. Stark up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man goes willingly and leans white his whole body weight against Peters side. “Hey! M’sorry about the gay thing. My dad was such a damn homophobe, guess that shits burned into my brain.” His feet cross in front of him when he walks which makes it hard to steer </span>
  <span class="s2">him. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark. I’m used to it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nah-Kid.” He hiccups. “Your too pretty for someone to be mean to ya.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter gets Mr. Stark inside and into his bed where Bucky is already passed out face down. Peter gets them a bucket for beside their beds and two glasses of water before checking on Mr. Stark one more time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Glad your not dating my daughter. She’d break you in a second. Too damn sweet for this world, Peter.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes are closed and he looks like he’s got the spins.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">”Happy birthday, Mr. Stark...try to get some sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Later when Peter is laying on the couch staring up at the quiet ceiling, he realizes it’s the first time Mr. Stark has called him anything more than Parker.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ugh my poor sweet damaged baby. Don’t worry Tones, I won’t make you suffer forever.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for his chapter: lots and lots of men crying. Get ready for a heartache.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter isn’t the first awake the next morning, surprisingly. He figured the house would sleep until at least ten something since they got in well past one, but eight in the morning rolls around and Peter makes his way into the kitchen to find Mr. Stark with his head laying on the cool countertop at the breakfast bar. He’s defiantly awake because he’s groaning against the chilled marble and clutching a glass of water. The same glass Peter left him the night before.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Morning Mr. Stark. Do you...want some coffee?” He keeps his voice low so he doesn’t hurt his head as his bare feet pad against the hardwood floors. He starts to fill the coffee pot and pull the already ground beans out of the cupboard. Grinding beans this early in the morning would probably be a death wish. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s spent enough time here that he knows his way around the kitchen, all the ins and outs, which foods are Morgan’s, which foods are Mr. Starks, and what’s fare game. He also has a stash of clothes in Morgan’s room that includes pajamas and sleep shirts for those unexpected sleepovers, much like last night. He knows May won’t even notice he’s missing, she’s too busy planning her life around Peter so she unconsciously<em>(or consciously?)</em> avoids him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“God, I would kill for some coffee.” Mr. Starks voice is scratchy and his hair is greasy and untamed. He looks like he’s been rode hard and put away wet. <em>Peter would take care of him after he rode him, that’s for sure</em>. He’s in his boxers and the button down from last night, his legs freckles in dark hairs and colorful ink that run up to his mid thigh where his briefs hug nicely. He starts the pot and pulls the fridge door open to find something greasy to make. “You need to eat.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark makes a fake vomiting sound which Peter rolls his eyes at and pulls out a stick of pork chorizo. Greasy and perfect for a hangover. Or, Peter would assume. He’s never actually been hungover. But he imagines it feels like being stepped on by an elephant and then dragged through a gorilla enclosure. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He cuts the end off the packaging and squeezes it into the already hot pan. The kitchen is bright in a warm sort of way and it’s smells like coffee. It’s just the two of them and already this place feels like it’s alive with commotion. It feels like a home should, like his once did before Ben died, when May still loved him. Ben was the one related to his dad, May was just some poor lady who got stuck with someone’s kid, he doesn’t blame her for hating him. He took her husband from her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s so caught up in his through that once the meat is sizzling in the pan, Peter realizes he’s shirtless, the grease splattering against his soft skin, painting him in little red dots. “Son of a bitch!” He cries, using a wet paper towel to wipe the hot grease away before the burn worsens. “Language! C’mon!” Mr. Stark barks at him playfully despite his pain. He’s never said a damn thing about Morgan’s colorful vocabulary. He’s about to glare at him when he catches his gaze.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The sudden eyes on him makes him squirm. He wants to crawl right out of his skin and leave it there in the middle of the kitchen. He tugs his low hanging pajama pants up a little and wraps his arms around his middle protectively. Mr. Starks eyes feel like they <em>burn</em> when they look him over for what may be five second, may be five minutes. Peter has no concept of time. Mr. Starks jaw ticks and his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows dryly and the action makes Peter shiver from head to toe. His chest turns three shades pinker and the soft peach fuzz on his arms rises in goosebumps.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uh...s-sorry, Mr. Stark.” The older mans eyes meet his and he swallows. “What are you sorry for?” His throat bobs again so he takes drink of his water. His trance doesn’t break, so Peter sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and sinks his teeth into it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Jesus Christ</em>, Mr. Stark is checking him out. The early morning sun is filtering in through the large windows in the kitchen and he’s fucking basking in it. He knows how he probably looks, creamy skin, dainty body and a little shiny from the grease he was attempting to wipe off. The chorizo is probably burning because Peter was too distracted by the beautiful artwork running up Mr. Starks bare legs. He suddenly feels so exposed, the room feels too cold and he can feel his nipples harden at the sensation. Mr. Stark is still just staring at him like <em>he’s</em> what’s for breakfast.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Do I smell coffee?” That’s not his voice, it’s defiantly not Mr. Starks because he’s too busy pinching his lower lip between his thumb and his knuckle and raking his eyes over the very underaged boy in his kitchen half naked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No, that’s Bucky, also shirtless in all his glory, <em>thank fuck.</em> “You are a blessing kid, honestly.” The man pats him over the shoulder with his metal arm and reaches into the cupboard for a cup. It’s the only thing that draws the staring contest to a end as Peter hurries around the kitchen to get breakfast made and Mr. Starks coffee poured, even tho he doesn’t ask him, but also doesn’t stop him when he asks him how he takes it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2"> ‘Lots of cream and sugar, kid, what do I look like? Morgan?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan doesn’t stumble out of her room until the potatoes and rice are made and breakfast is ready. Peter is standing at the counter beside Mr. Stark making his own burrito and in his own mind he can feel the heat radiating off of him, they are inches apart-<em>no</em>, they are a miles apart because as soon as Morgan enters the room Peter feels cold again and Mr. Stark stops looking at him like he’s a<em> four course meal.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan doesn’t speak while she pours herself a cup of coffee and gets a banana out of the fruit bowl. They eat in a uncomfortable silence until Morgan is finished with her second cup before she stands in front of the three of them at the bar. Peter feels like he’s in trouble too.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She’s in a baggy shirt that has a semi on it and says ‘<em>chrome stacks, mind if I smoke these?</em>’. She looks completely fed up, her hair is wild and the mascara from the night before is covering the dark circles under her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You promised that wasn’t going to happen again. You gave me your fucking <em>word</em> you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of my friend.” She’s glaring at her father who’s head is hanging, staring at his empty plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Im going to grandpas for the summer. You promised and <em>you</em> lied. I told you this is what I would do if this didn’t stop, but obviously your drinking is more important than your daughter.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peters jaw hits the counter but before he has a chance to protest, Bucky jumps in to defend his brother. “Morgan, this is my fault! I pressured him into this. Don’t take it out on him because I fucked up.” Buckys metal arm has a coffee cup perched between his fingers. It’s a symbol of Mr. Starks brilliance, Peter thinks. He doesn’t know the troubles in Mr. Starks mind but he can see the worry swimming in his eyes even during the happiest times. He has to be hurting if this is the way he chooses to live. He’s too brilliant to want this life for himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan’s always talked about her dad like a peer instead of her guardian. Peter never thought about it too much, he always assumed they had a great relationship, the kind you read about in magazines and the fictional stories Peter loves. Where kids trust their parents with their woahs a secrets. <em>Peter likes to think he had that with Ben</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t defend him! He had every chance to tell you no. He made this decision, he gets to live with it.” She walks over and sets her cup in the sink. “Hey, you can’t talk to me like this, I’m your father. I’m an adult, I get to make the decision around here.” Peter thinks maybe Mr. Stark might hold his ground but when Morgan whips around he doesn’t meet her eyes out of shame.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Your a fucking<em> child</em> who doesn’t know the difference between having a little fun and drowning your problems! I already talked to grandpa, he’s picking me up the day after school let’s out. That’s three more weeks. You’ve got the summer to sober up or I’m spending the rest of my high school career at a private school in Holbrook.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With that, she turns to take her leave but not without one more disappointed look and a sigh at Peter. “I’m sorry you had to see this side of my family, Pete.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky gets up and follows Morgan down the hallway to her bedroom and Peter can barley hear them talking but from the hushed yelling, he knows Bucky is trying to talk her down.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter doesn’t want Morgan to leave. A whole year has passed and he’s only managed to make one friend and she’s it, her and Mr. Stark is all he has in this city full of empty faces and meaningless connections. If Morgan goes then where does that leave him? Alone in his and Mays blank apartment? No pictures on the walls, no TV in the living room. They just exist in the same space, breathing in the same air but it’s so fucking lonely. Without them, where does that leave Peter?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>God he’s so selfish</em>. He’s watching his best friends home life fall apart and he can’t think about anyone but himself and how much he’s going to miss the man beside him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mr. Stark...” he doesn’t know what to say but at least the man beside him can take comfort in knowing someone stayed at his side. “<em>Jesus</em>, kid...I think we’re well past ‘Mr. Stark’. <em>Please</em> for the love of god just call me Tony.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter runs the name through his mind a few times. In ever fantasy he’s pictured over the last year, he’s always called him Tony. Hes always has these two different versions of the man. <em>Tony</em>, who stares at him like he hung the moon, <em>Tony</em>, who kisses his skin in his dreams and runs his rough grease stained fingers up the insides of his bare thighs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mr. Stark has always been unobtainable and distant, stoic and above Peter but this version of the man before him has tears falling past the brims of his eyes and he’s sniffling in an attempt to keep it all together. “Can you just...stay for a second. I don’t really want to be alone right now.” He whispers despite the way his jaw chatters and he lower lip quivers when he buries his head in his palms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter feels brave and reaches out to slide his small hand over the hard muscles of Mr. St-Tony. Tony’s hard muscles, shaking as he tries to hold in his sobs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I won’t go anywhere, Tony.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony let’s the emotions wreck him when Peter says his name. He leans closer to the touch and lets his tears fall and god, it’s ugly and ruthless and Peters never seen a man cry before. Boys yeah, boys cried all the time, but Tony is brooding and strong, he’s a towering beacon of power. But here he is, sobbing into Peters bare shoulder and clutching him under his arm like he’s going to get up and abandon him too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The front door slams hard and Peter can hear Buckys demanding voice echoing through the large space. “Morgan! Hold on just a-just a damn second!” Peter should get up, really, he should chase after her and hug his friend and try to understand that she’s hurting too and needing her father but he can’t. He can’t even imagine moving a inch when he has everything he’s dreamed of clutching him like he’s his life force, like he breaths from Peter alone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I won’t leave you Tony.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t. He holds him for close to a half hour, his back straining and his legs are asleep but the sobs settle into soft hiccups and finally a snore that tells him Tony has fallen asleep against him. Peter stirs him and helps him to his room where the man climbs into bed and tries to offer a soft smile but his lips are spit slick and his eyes are swollen from crying. Peters never wanted to kiss him so bad in his entire life but every second he’s not feels agonizing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes drift close before Peter leaves the room, so he takes a moment to admire the crumbling man before him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s beautiful and dangerous like a thunderstorm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter finds Morgan sitting on the sidewalk beside Bucky when he makes his way outside finally. It’s warm and Bucky is still shirtless so he doesn’t bother getting dressed either. He sinks down beside her and for a second he thinks she might yell at him for not coming to her aid.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">But she doesn’t, because she smiles at him and leans into him with a sniffle. When he looks over at Bucky who is st</span> <span class="s2">aring at his feet in the sunlight, he has tears in his eyes too. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thank you for taking care of him...I just...can’t do it anymore. I can’t help him, I get that now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter feels brave so he swallows and looks between the two of them. It’s the moment of truth, he’s ready for whatever they have been keeping from him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What...what’s wrong with him?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky pats Morgan on her leg, silently telling her that he can handle this one.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“This isn’t Tony’s fault. He’s had...a really fucked up life. When I met Tony, he was eighteen and fresh out of high school. He was going to school while serving to become a engineer. His dad was a <em>fucking</em> asshole growing up. Tony was never good enough, always got in the way. He was an only child that they never meant to have and his mom died when he was twelve. </span>After he got out of high school his dad shipped him off as far away as he could get. But then he found out Pepper was pregnant and his dad arranged a marriage, even though they met at a party and only hooked up a couple times.” Morgan’s sniffles and rubs her eyes that have sprung new leaks. Peter wants to tell him to stop with the story but who is he kidding.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">He’s selfish.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“They got married, Morgan was born, but he was never home for more than a few weeks before he was back out on deployment again. Pepper died during his second tour and Morgan lived with his dad for a couple years. On our last year...” Bucky flexes his metal arm, squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tony was our bomb tech. He was trying to disable a suicide vest strapped to his poor guy. The dude was <em>screaming</em> for Tony to help him in a language he didn’t understand, praying to his gods Tony didn’t know. Tony didn’t...he didn’t need to be out there in that field. We all knew there wasn’t enough time, Pepper had just died and he was suffering. I was running for him, screaming for him to get back. Tony said he apologized to the man and ran in my direction but he was in a suit and I wasn’t. He had some internal bleeding and he banged his head up really fucking bad but I lost my arm. The only reason I’m alive is because Tony shielded me with his body.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan stands up once she can’t take it anymore and Bucky is finished but the older man lets her go so he must be satisfied with their talk. She’s heading for the shop below the house, underground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter assumes they are done talking but Bucky scoots a little closer. “Want to know how I met my husband?” When Peter doesn’t respond, Bucky takes it as a yes and continues with a nostalgic look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I was eighteen, fresh out of foster care because my parents were druggies. The army seemed like the best place for me. Steve was my commanding officer and oh my...man, he was the hottest guy I’d ever met. But he was thirty six and I was just a fucking kid, y’know? But god I was in love with him. Followed him around everywhere, not just because I was ordered to.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky shoots him a suggestive wink and Peters face heats up and his mouth goes dry. <em>Is he suggesting? </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Only took me a couple weeks and I had him bending me over his desk.” Which, <em>ew</em>. Now that he’s spent time with Bucky, he defiantly doesn’t want to picture him like that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What I’m getting at is, I don’t really think love has a time requirement. Steve is going to be fifty four this year, our sex life has never been better and we’ve been married for fifteen years. So I don’t really think there’s a expiration date, either.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter doesn’t have words for all the new knowledge he has but Bucky saves him the stammering by smiling at him knowingly and walking back into the house to leave just Peter and his thoughts and the birds chirping overhead. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter is in way over his head. No, scratch that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>He’s drowning.</em> </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I could REALLY use some feed back on characters here. Do you guys feel like characters are consistent? Like there is anything out of place? I really like constructive criticism. </p><p>How do you feel about Bucky and Steve’s relationship? I kind of want to write that now, lmao. </p><p>Also, I’ll be adding a big FAT “power bottom Peter Parker” tag because Peter taking care of tony is a BIG mood if you guys haven’t noticed that yet. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">It’s the middle of the next school week before Peter makes his way back to the Starks. He wants to give them space to hash things out but based on Morgan’s bitter mood nothing has changed. Since summer is so close, he and Morgan have been spending a lot of time on the deck by the pool, soaking up the sun and each other’s presence. Peter is counting the days he has left with his best friend and they are very few.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They are kicked back in lounge chairs in the sun, soaking it up and hoping to give their bodies a little bit of color. Morgan has sunglasses and a sun hat on, both of them covered in tanning oil. Of course, Peter is still pasty while Morgan has reached a golden hue. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey Peter? Can I ask you to do me a solid while I’m gone?” She tips her glasses down her nose to look over at him with what looks like a sad smile. “Can you just check up on my dad once in a while? Don’t leave him alone for too long? You don’t have to actually hangout with him.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Yeah, like he’s totally against that. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Just make sure he has food in the house? Make sure he’s eating and not like, drowning in his own vomit or something? It would really mean a lot to me.” She doesn’t push her glasses back up but she leans back in her chair with a heavy sigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Of course, dude. I don’t think he needs to be left alone, but I understand why you need to go. It’s not your burden to carry. Maybe I could get him to go to therapy or something?” Peter stretches his arms over his head and adjusts his chair so he’s flat on his back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I tried that. He threw a stapler at the doctor for telling him he had a dependency problem.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They both giggle amongst themselves for a moment. Things have gotten less tense, but Peter hasn’t seen much of Tony since the incident. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan has found a couple more letters in the three days since they’d been back to school. She looks sad when she reads them now and Peter can’t help but feel responsible for the comment he made the week before. In the beginning, he’d hoped this would turn out to be some romantic gesture that lead to a blossoming relationship. But as time has gone on and the letters haven’t stoped, Peter is realized that Morgan is extremely put off by the far to personal comments.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When he tries to rationalize it, he realizes that Morgan’s never talked about liking anyone. She’s never even hinted that someone is cute, or that she’s got a crush. Maybe she’s good at hiding it like Peters fascination with her own damn father. But he remembers the look on her face when he’d asked her if she’d been in love before.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, Morgan? Don’t feel compelled to answer this and if you want me to drop it just say the word.” He rolls over into his side. The sun has moved over top of them so the balcony covers half his body’s in the shade now. “Shoot.” Shes looking at her phone and scrolling aimlessly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Last week, when I made a comment about you being in love? You looked really upset and the letters have been bothering you more lately...I guess I’m just wondering what the story is there?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She glances up above her phone and he can see her swallow before setting it down. “I guess you’ve already been through the shit with my family, huh?” Morgan sits up to turn sideways on her long chair and sets her head in her hands and rests her elbows in her knees.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“When I was fourteen I lived upstate with my grandpa for a while. He owns this big manufacturer company, they make things like weapons and technology advancements. Anyways, I spent a lot of time with him at work. He had this assistant, his name was Damien.” She looks smug for maybe a moment before sighing. “I...matured at a really young age and I guess I looked like a woman. He convinced me that I was what he wanted and then it turned into he was the only person who would ever want me. He manipulated me into believing that what he was doing was okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Why is it that Peter always asks the bad questions? He thought his boring life was a complete shit show but here Morgan was, living inside a actual <em>HBO</em> drama. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You don’t have to continue, I get the picture. I’m really really sorry that happened to you, Morgan.” He sits up and wraps his arms around her tightly. “I love you. I’m sorry I brought it up.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan doesn’t cry like her dad does. She’s quiet and soft, clutching Peter firmly but not till it hurts like Tony had. She pulls back a few minutes later and rubs her eyes. She smiles brightly at him despite her red eyes to show that she’s stronger than the pain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“My therapist said that because it happened at such a important time in my development that my coping is normal. I don’t really...I’m not attracted to people, anymore. I just don’t feel that...connection. That’s why it was so easy to be your friend because I knew you wouldn’t be interested in me like that and we wouldn’t have to have this awkward conversation.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan and him both laugh and grin at each other. Their friendship means more to them than silly ideas of what love is supposed to be. Morgan has always been strong and empowered. She’s confident in the love she has for herself and that’s probably the most important person to fall for. “Well...I’m glad I have you. I can also one hundred percent guarantee that I’m not interested in you, despite how beautiful you might be.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thanks Pete. You have no idea how much light you’ve brought to my life.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan ends up starting dinner and asks Peter to go fetch Tony so he doesn’t go yet another meal without eating. He pads down to the garage in a shirt that Morgan gives him out of the dryer and his well above-knee swim trunks. His bare feet are probably going to be covered in dirt once he heads back up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The garage is empty and soundless, void of all life. Bucky had drove back a few days ago and Peter knew Tony didn’t like to leave the house, especially alone. “Tony?” He peeks into the office but it too is empty. He’s about to give up when a voice comes loudly from the speakers in the ceiling. “Hey, Pete. You see the metal door to your left? Push the button on the side.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony’s voice is booming over the intercom. If he was a doorway away, why couldn’t he just open the door?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When Peter gets over to the door the button is actually round electric button that lights up when he presses it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Holy shit, is this a elevator?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doors open with a ding and Peter steps inside. The elevator is made of mirrors and he can see himself on every side. He knows Tony isn’t upstairs but there is a down button. The shop basement has its own basement? A basement under the basement? Was this where they murdered him? <em>Sacrificed him for their beauty?</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The elevator takes him down and when it opens, Peter steps out with a gasp. Inside the large room is a workshop, fitted with machines he’s only seen in magazines. He has precision cutters, anything you would need to weld and fabricate. He has machines built for micro constructions. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter is too awestruck to even question why there’s another basement, because it’s a fucking <em>lab</em>. There are work stations overflowing with technology and unfinished projects. There is an entire wall lined with every possible tool Peter can think of. It’s heaven. It’s nerd heaven. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Is that my shirt?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Nope, straight down to the very bottom floor of hell, that’s what this is.</em> “Uh-is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I think it is.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Morgan gave it to me out of the dryer.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Definatly mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I-uh, I can take it off.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony drops the X-Acto knife in his hand and retorts quickly. “No!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter quirks an eyebrow up in response, his hands already around the hem of the shirt and more than willing to pull it off and give it back to the man. The last thing he wants is to make Tony uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I mean-you can keep it. It’s a little snug on my shoulders and it looks good on you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The shirt in question is a black faded Metallica shirt from the ‘<em>and justice for all</em>’ album. It feels well loved and old. There’s some burn holes in it, probably from Tony grinding in it. It’s faded like it’s been through at least a thousand cycles. It feels soft and reminds him of a night shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So uh...this is my lab. Not a lot of people know it’s here. It’s not hush hush, but...now that I think of it, there’s no one to really tell.” He laughs dryly and pulls up a-wait a second.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Is that a 3D hologram? Oh my god this is like-this is like something from the future.” He steps forward and watches as Tony moves the image with a flick of his wrist. “Tony this is amazing. I’ve read about this but no one is even close to this kind of technology yet. Did you build this?” Peter is standing beside him now and running his fingers through the hologram. He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Are you...does this stuff interest you?” There’s millions of dollars worth of equipment in here and Tony thinks it’s not a huge deal. When Peter looks over, Tony is staring at him like a horn just grew out of his forehead or he’s sprouted wings. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“My uncle Ben was a journalist, he wanted to write about advancements in technology and science breakthroughs so I did a lot of research with him. He wanted to bring attention to young scientist wanting to make a name for themselves. To put light on their work that has now shaped out lives and...no one even knows about it. No one knows who made these breakthroughs because they were young college students and not corporations.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Your uncle sounds like he was a great man. I see where you get it from.”</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony and Peter stand there for a few long moments admiring the hologram, yet another scrap of evidence that Tony is the worlds more underrated genius. This man deserved schools named after him. He deserved a world of followers, he deserved a fucking <em>tower</em> with his name on it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony starts pulling a black silicone ring off his finger and grabs Peters hand. Shockwaves shoot up his hand to his shoulder and jolt his heart. Tony’s hands feel softer than they ever looked as he slips the ring onto his finger. “This is how you control it. It’s only fifty percent done but I’m working on the second part now. Go ahead, look through it. Just flick the page away and the next will open. You can also twist and the hologram will rotate.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony watches him while he reads over the blueprints and coding like he doesn’t expect him to understand it. He looks smug and cocky but also proud of himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s an AI.” Peter finally deduces and his jaw drops. Everything is there, it’s looks like Tony has it completely figured out. He flips through the slides a few more times, looking at the formulas, the construction.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“His name is Jarvis. I’ve almost got him operational, I’m just trying to figure out how much space I need for his nerve center.” Peters hips are pressed against the glass and metal top where the projection is. He can feel Tony beside him, smell his shampoo. He doesn’t smell like alcohol today.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A hand touches down on the table on the opposite side than Tony is standing. Peter sucks in a breath and he stops scrolling through the pages for a second. Tony is nearly pressed against him. All it would take is one shuffle and Peter would be molded against his side, caged in his warmth. Tony could slide his fingers under <em>his</em> shirt clinging to Peters body. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The younger turns his head and cranes his neck to meet Tony’s eyes and-</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Oh fuck.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s staring right at him, hot breath painting his face. He can see every line in his cheeks, ever speck of gold and green and little freckles of brown hiding in his eyes. He’s fucking <em>smiling</em> at him. “I didn’t know.” Tony says. Peter wants to believe his eyes track down to his mouth after he says it. Peter feels like he can’t breath and not because of his asthma for once.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You didn’t know what?” He swallows down the lump in his throat and licks his lips because-this is happening. <em>Hell yeah</em> this is happening. Tony, the same Tony he’s been pinning after for nearly a year is staring into his eyes like he’s wants to drink his blood or sell his soul or-<em>like he wants to kiss him.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I didn’t know you were brilliant.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That does it for Peter, he's strapped to a wagon and flying down hill straight for a busy street and he’s bound to get smacked by a car but he doesn’t care. It’s worth this. It’s worth having Tony’s hands this close. It’s worth having Tony’s eyes on his mouth and his breath on his face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I always knew you were.” He retorts back and turns his body the rest of the way around and Tony tracks his movements but doesn’t scare off. “Some of us are better at hiding it than others.” Tony grin turns wicked when he says it and he seems to move with Peter till he’s standing directly in front of him, still caging him in on both sides.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t think your very good at hiding it at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Better than you are.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony eyes are definatly on his mouth know. They flic up a few times like he’s searching for something inside his eyes. Both are nearly panting, the room is still yet filled with their obviously nervous energy and excitement. Tony’s mouth is slightly open as he takes in a sharp breath and then he’s leaning in, ever so carefully, so Peter has time to run like thats even a thought in his mind. He’s waited so long for this moment, every muscle in his body is tingling and his gut is on <em>fire</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony’s own tongue slides over his lips, wetting them for what is bound to happen and then-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Then Peters phone rings loudly and the younger eyes drop away from their hold and he fishes the phone out of his pocket. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s Morgan.” He sighs and answers on speaker.Tony steps away from him awkwardly and starts to shuffle through papers to keep himself busy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>“Dinner is ready! Where are you guys?”</em> He can hear music playing in the background and he can tell by her tone that she’s in a good mood. He can’t spoil this for her. She doesn’t have much more of this before she leaves for Holbrook. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Sorry, your dad was showing me his lab, we’ll be up in a second.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He hangs up the phone and he and Tony share one more intention fueled gaze stare before they head upstairs for dinner.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Halfway through his meal, Peter realizes Tony’s ring is still snug around his finger and it makes him vibrate with excitement.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this one wasn’t very long but I wanted to give you guys a little something before Morgan leaves. Also, I never actually intended for Morgan to be a-sexual but I also Feel like she’s such a strong figure that it’s hard to match someone to that kind of energy.  </p><p>What do you guys think? 👀</p><p>Also, how have I busted out 4 chapters in less than a week? Who am I.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">On the day before the last day of school, Morgan plans a party. She invites MJ and Ned all the way from Queens to spend the day with them by the poolside.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They even get off school early and drive there to pick them up and Morgan seems comfortable meeting them both. They all hit it off and it gives Peter butterflies watching his best friends in the world get along and chat like they’ve known each other forever. Like Morgan was there all along.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tomorrow Morgan leaves for the summer but he’s not going to let that ruin what they’ve all dubbed “<em>The Best First and Last Day</em>”. <em>First</em>; for the first time they’ve all been together, and <em>Last</em>; because it’s the last day before they’ll all be apart again for the summer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Neds and MJs school, Peters old school, let out the week before because they are in different districts so the pair pack a bag and they all plan to sleep out on the deck if the weather permits it. Morgan even pulled out the air mattresses and got the fire pit ready.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">In the last week, Peter hasn’t seen much of Tony and he hasn’t had a reason to seek him out. He can tell he’s missing on purpose so he tries to not spend the night to often, but the apartment is empty and void and it <em>hurts</em> Peter to be there when there are people who actually like his presence. Even if they are avoiding him. Morgan offers for him to stay every night and he thinks it’s so she isn’t left alone to talk about things with her dad. She’s avoiding him by using Peter, and Morgan doesn’t even know her dad is avoiding <em>Peter</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It’s a sad little circle, but one that’s working for all parties involved but Peter. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey! Get out of your head Parker! Come get in!” MJ shouts playfully and splashes water at him. He’s sitting on the deck while the three of them play volley ball in the water. It’s completely unfair because MJ and Morgan have teamed up on Ned and the poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Sorry! I’m coming, I’m coming!” He yells. She laughs, takes a drink of his ice cold lemonade and jumps into the cool water. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Being with his friends helps numb the sting of rejection. He knows this will be over soon, he’ll be alone after this. God, how he’s going to miss these people. Everyone is laughing and cheering, dunking on each other and shouting when their side gets a point, even though they stoped keeping score.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Let’s play chicken! You and Morgan versus me and Ned?” MJ calls once the sun starts to dip bellow the horizon. Golden hour has just begun and it makes their eyes shimmer, their skin warm. This is the most perfect day. It’s <em>The Best First and Last Day</em> he could ask for.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You guys hungry?” Tony is standing on the deck with a platter of uncooked hamburgers. “I wanted to surprise you but your Uncles will be here in a few minutes, thought we could get started on dinner.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter glances over at Morgan and she’s got a grateful look in her eyes. “Thanks dad...I appreciate this.” She tells him genuinely. Peter watches as he starts up the grill. He’s never seen Tony in shorts before. Boxers once, yeah, but he’s shirtless and soaking up what’s left of the sun and he looks phenomenal. His chest is hard and toned, perfect pecks, a soft outline of a six-pack but he’s not overly muscular. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s got tattoos on his abdomen too, Peter should have guessed. He’s got a beautifully detailed wing spanning from his shoulder blade to his bicep. Over his chest is a tattoo that looks like shredded skin and underneath is a army uniform. Its the most beautiful piece on Tony’s body, as far as Peter has seen so far. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Everyone files out of the pool to get some drinks and take a break for a moment, forgetting their promised game of chicken. Morgan preps the condiments for dinner and Ned and MJ post up on the lounge chairs and chat amongst themselves. Peter finally, <em>finally</em> takes his chance to get Tony somewhat alone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey.” Is all he manages, despite all the things he’d gone over in his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Sorry I tried to kiss you.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Sorry you tried to kiss me?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Sorry I made you want to kiss me?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And most of all, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Sorry I answered that phone call.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But in the heat of the moment, all he can manage to do is listen to his heart pound in his ears and a shiver run over his cool damp skin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey.” Tony doesn’t look at him yet but he can see the way he’s fighting the urge to. It looks so forced, his attempt to stay disconnected from Peter. “I uh...Morgan asked if I could come by here while she’s gone and check on you. I just wanted to make sure that’s okay with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony finally looks over and holds his gaze for a moment. “Of course that’s okay. But don’t feel like you have to check on me just because Morgan said so. I’ll be okay on my own.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>That’s not the answer Peter wants at all.</em>He looks up into the sliding glass door and huge windows lining the kitchen area to find Morgan still cutting the tomatoes with her back turned to them. MJ and Ned seem sucked into their own conversation. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter feels brave today and reaches his hand out to clasp it around Tony’s elbow joint, digging his fingers into his bicep gently. “I want to check on you. I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, Tony.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The older mans eyes look clouded and his throat bobs. <em>That’s the reaction Peter was hoping for.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony nods quickly and looks back to the grill, flipping the burgers to distract himself even though they have barley browned. Peter lets his fingers linger almost ticklishly when he pulls away and Tony lets out a whoosh of air. He makes his way over to the cooler and grabs a few waters before walking back over to his friends to talk about how great of a day it’s been. He doesn’t want them to go back tomorrow, he wishes it could always be like this. All of them together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Like Tony promised, Steve and Bucky show up within a few minutes and everyone gathers on the deck. Tony is still minding the grill when the stroll in. He looks so relaxed and at ease surrounded by his friends, smiling and laughing and <em>oh so</em> god damn beautiful.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey! I thought we were playing chicken!” Morgan calls to him and her new friends. MJ squeals and grabs Ned by his arm. Peter decides he’ll just hang back, because no way in hell could he hold his friends up in his condition. He really, really doesn’t want to make an fool of himself in front of his friends.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’s wrong? You sitting this one out?” Morgan asks when she swims over to his feet dangling in the water. She leans against the pool side and sighs. She knows him too damn well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Bucky! Hey, do you guys want to come play with us? We’re playing chicken!” Bucky is in a pair of swim trunks and no tee. He’s glad now that they explained to Ned and MJ about Buckys arm or this would have far more eventful when they caught a glimpse of the shiny arm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah! What do you say brother?” He nudged Tony who glances around. “Uh-no it’s okay, I don’t want to make the number uneven.” He tells them politely. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Go have fun Tony, I’ll guard these with me life.” Steve interjects and takes the spatula out of Tony hand. The sun isn’t completely down yet and the air is still warm on their skin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter keeps in his spot, even as both Tony and Bucky drop into the water with a splash. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Come on, Pete!” Bucky calls over from the deeper end waving to the younger man. “It’s okay! I don’t think I could hold up a chance with you guys.” He admits shyly, kicking his legs. “Oh come on...you and Tony will kick ass.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky doesn’t wink, but he’s so damn smug Peter thinks he doesn’t even need to. “Come on kid.” Peter hears Tony say. When he looks up, the older mans hair is dripping wet on his forehead, eyelashes catching the droplets. He’s soaking wet and shiny. Tony Stark is the most beautiful creature to walk the earth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Are you sure?” He asks carefully as he slips down into the pool. “Yeah, hop on. We’ll kick some ass.” He ducks under the water and this is it, Peter doesn’t have any other option but to wrap his fucking <em>thighs</em> around Tony’s shoulders, squeezing and holding on tightly while Tony lifts him out of the water effortlessly. He holds onto his hands and squeals a little at the sudden movement. Tony chuckles at him and sinks his fingers into the soft flesh of Peters thighs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They take turns facing off against each other and every win is all thanks to the hold Tony keeps on his legs. It’s fun, the most fun Peter has ever seen Tony have. He’s laughing and smiling at Peter in a way that makes his eyes light up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They don’t kick ass. Peter ends up in the water more times than he can count but Tony is there to lift him up again every time.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The first thing Peter notices about Bucky and Steve is the way Steve stares at his partner like he hung the moon. It amazes Peter that even after almost twenty years, Steve still absolutely worships Bucky. He looks at the younger man like he’s his only reason for living and there’s so much love in their gaze that it’s almost too sweet. Peter might get a cavity just from staring at them for too long.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter definitely understands the appeal. Even tho Steve most certainly isn’t his type, he can admit that he’s hot as hell, even for his age. He’s got a full beard,splashed with grey and his hair is turning silver. He’s a fucking <em>fox</em>, that’s for sure. Bucky is one lucky man.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Y’know Peter, when I was your age I weighed like, twenty pounds less than you.” They are all in the middle of conversation, talking about school and the oncoming summer. Steve, Tony and Bucky are reminiscing about their times served. Bucky was pinching Steve’s arms and teasing him about how buff he still was.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Wait-<em>really</em>?” The younger man quips and sits up a little in his seat. The things he would do to look like Steve Rogers. The man is a walking wet dream. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony is the kind of hot that can make you come in your pants while awake too. Peter should know, <em>he has. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah! I was asthmatic as anyone could be. I was five foot four and skinny as a rail but I upped my calorie intake, started taking lots of protein and vitamins. Military training built me right up.” He points out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony has a beer in his hand but it’s the only one he’s had all night. Peter knows, he’s been keeping track of him. “Yeah but Peter <em>isn’t</em> skinny. He’s small but everything’s defined. He’s got a better six pack than me.” Tony points out, his cheeks going red at the realization that he’s just admitted to keeping a detailed description of Peters body type. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being <em>little</em> Peter.” Bucky tells him and raises his glass. The dining room table is tall so all their legs dangle. It feels more welcoming than a short table, like a bar top, like a social gathering rather than a place for meals only. MJ, Morgan and Ned are laughing at the banter, making comments here and there but mostly just enjoying the conversation. Nothing feels forced or faked. It warms Peter from the inside.<br/><br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It feels like the closest thing he’s had to a family in a very very long time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“There’s <em>everything</em> wrong with being little! I’m sure I’ve got another growth spurt coming.” Peter defends himself earnestly. He’d always wanted to be Buckys size but Tony isn’t a big man. He wants Tony to be able to lift him in his arms, carry him, hold him. Doesn’t work out too well if Peter is suddenly a buck ninety of hard muscle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Ahh, screw that! When you get to college, guys are going to eat you up.” Bucky winks at him and what do you know, Tony drops the knife he’s using to spread mayo on his hamburger bun. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t say anything when he picks it up but the eye contact he makes with Peter says enough. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter helps the guys pick up after dinner while Morgan helps set up the balcony for them to have their sleepover. It’s a beautiful eighty degrees outside and even though the city is too bright for stars, Peter likes to imagine they are up there. The pool lights are on and they get a beautiful view of the city at night from the house. Morgan stocked up on games and goodies to roast over the fire the day before. Despite tomorrow being a school day, they have a long night filled with good laughs planned. It’s something they all needed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What are you guys going to do tonight?” He asks Bucky as he washes the dishes for him to dry. “Probably going to just hangout in the shop, help Tony with the the Chevelle. He’s been rebuilding the top end for a couple weeks but he needs a little motivation.” The car in question is a soft blue muscle car with white pimp striping that Peter used to see Tony drive everywhere. He knows it’s his pride and joy based on the way he would wax it every other week and nearly lost his head when Morgan backed into it and broke a tail light. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony happens to round the corner at the right time with dishes from the deck. “It hasn’t been weeks! I’ve just been busy with customers cars. It should be done by tonight.” He says, setting the dishes on the counter beside the sink. “I can take over, Buck. Steve is helping the kids with the fire but I’m worried about him catching that beard on the flames.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Apparently one thing Bucky <em>can</em> take is a hint because he drops what he’s doing immediately and heads for the door. “Don’t have to tell me twice. I hate dishes.” He laughs and exits the house.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It’s painfully quiet in the moments that follow. It’s just Peter and Tony and a mound of dishes. They wash and dry for a few minutes and just when Peter thinks Tony’s intentions are purely innocent the man speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“About what...happened in the lab the other day.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter wasn’t expecting <em>that</em>. He assumed they would dance around the topic, pretend it didn’t happen and they would either move on or move forward with what happened that day. “You mean what <em>almost</em> happened.” He scrubs another plate and rinses it, but Tony abandons it in the sink.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, that. Look, I don’t know what I was thinking. I...sometimes I forget you sixteen and it makes everything so <em>complicated</em>-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m fifteen for two more weeks.” <em>Okay, dumbass, make this worse,that’s smart.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Jesus, I’m fucking insane.” Tony whispers, probably to himself because he doesn’t give Peter the chance to defend him. “Look, I shouldn’t have...I’m supposed to be the adult here. Obviously I’m not very good at that as you’ve seen. But I suppose being an adult means having those painfully awkward discussions you don’t want to have.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony sets down the towel in his hands. By now, Peter can hear his heartbeat in his ears and his hands are shaky. He feels clammy and nauseous all at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I can’t put this shit on you, okay kid? I don’t understand these feeling I’m having fully. It’s never been like this for me before and I’ve never been the best with self control so I’m telling you, hoping that you’ll be the bigger man and stop me If I try something<span class="Apple-converted-space"> s</span>tupid like that again.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter doesn’t know what Tony wants him to say. That he could ever tell him no? That he, a teenager, could somehow manage more restraint than a grown man? <em>Not likely. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Uh...yeah, Tony, you got it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Got me, wrapped around your tattooed fingers. Got me hanging on your every word. You’ve always got me.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bold of Tony to assume that Peter is a honest man. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if any of this has mistakes in it, I’ve forgotten to mention that this is NOT beta’d because I’m lazy as fuck? </p><p>I wasn’t going to spoilt it but NEXT CHAPTER IT. GOES. DOWNNNNNN. Are you guys ready? Because I don’t think you are.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay well, I planned for it to get a little hot and steamy here BUT I got a bit distracted and I know meow I wouldn’t have whole lot of room for as much porn as I WANT to write. 😂</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony is elbows deep in grease a few hours after dinner. Working has always helped calm his nerves and keep his mind off how <em>fucked</em> off his life is.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">How very Tony of him to be facinated with a fifteen year old kid. Not that he thinks Peter is a kid, he’s far more mature than Tony. By a long shot. But that’s where the problem lies, isnt it? Tony forgetting that the creamy, untouched skin before him is, in-fact, illegal.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s just got a few more bolts and the engine cover left and the car is finally done. Its only about midnight and Steve and Bucky have stuck around all night to help him, which usually means help distract him. He’s had like, six beers? Maybe? They’ve been joking and laughing, swamping war stories they’ve told each other a million times. The beer in his system makes him feel light, like nothing can touch him. Maybe he’s had more than six.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He lost count a little while ago but he’s not shit faced that’s for damn sure. It’s just enough to dull his overdriven senses and make him feel numb. “Really Tony, you should take this time to take care of yourself.” Steve says over his shoulder. His friends are just as far into the beer as he is and the <em>805</em> is kicking their asses more so than his own. <em>Lightweights</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, yeah, take advantage of the summer my daughter is leaving my sorry ass. Maybe I’ll go to a spa, get a dog.” He jokes dryly and tightens down another bolt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“We’re serious, Tony! You should take a break from the shop for a while. Focus on getting yourself better.” Bucky interjects and leans against the hood where Tony has been for the last forty five minutes straight. “Getting better? I’m not fucking <em>sick</em>. People forget I’ve been the same way my entire life. Don’t think this is something you get over with self care or some shit.” He didn’t want to get into this kind of argument with what are supposed to be his best friends. He’s had interventions before, he knows how they feel and they don’t do shit for him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Look can we just drop it? Nothing is going to change the way I am. Morgan will be eighteen next year and then she doesn’t have to live with me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky grabs his wrist and takes the tool from him. “And where does that leave you? We don’t give a damn about Morgan being stuck here or whatever, you and me both know she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Who’s going to take care of you when she’s gone, huh? Who’s going to make sure your eating and showering.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Ouch</em>. But also, why do his friends care so much about him? What has he ever done to deserve their friendship? They aren’t entirely wrong, Tony has never been very good at keeping himself going. If it hadn’t been for Morgan’s nanny, Natasha, Morgan probably wouldn’t have made it to school every day or even had her hair brushed. Seventeen years of bad parenting.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Peter is going to come over and check on me once in a while. If he has the time.” He leans back against the car and puts his hands on the frame. His eyes are searching the ground, hoping it might open up and swallow him hole. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Maybe you should try and open up to the kid a little. Your different when your around him. I haven’t seen you have that kind of fun in a long long time, Tony.” Steve says as he grabs the intake manifold and starts putting it on. The car should be ready to drive but Tony doesn’t feel it in him to get in right now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I think I’m going to head to bed, guys...your welcome to crash in Morgan’s room since the kids are out on the deck.” He starts picking up his work station and putting his tools away. Tony never liked a lot of clutter, it made his head swim. How could he organize the things in his mind if the world around him was messy? Maybe he would shave his face and get some sleep. If everything was in order, he’d have time to put his thoughts where they go.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Even if that means filing his feelings for a underaged boy in the very, very back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">On his way to bed, he stops by the floor to ceiling windows and watches the four of them laugh around the fire, their blankets tucked up around their chins. Peter has the biggest grin on his face, watching his friends interact, throwing their arms around and tossing their heads back in fits of laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He looks beautiful, painfully but righteously stunning. Tony’s never felt anything this strong for another person. Pepper was something his father forced but he loved her as his friend, as the mother of his child. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This obsession with Peter, this drive to care for him and look over him and...to be better for him, it scares Tony to his core. He’s never felt so helpless. It’s a fifteen year old boy that makes Tony, for the first time in his life, feel like he’s got something to <em>live</em> for.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The next day, Tony gets up early and gives MJ and Ned a ride home to Queens. They seem like great kids, level heads and more mature than more teenagers. Not that Tony knows a whole lot of teenagers these days.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thank you Mr. Stark!” The girl waves at him as he leaves. Tony takes his time heading hack to the house. He’s already out, maybe he should take the chance to go shopping, get some sun on his olive complexion. His tattoos might get a little more vibrant if the sun got to kiss his skin for once.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He heads downtown and spends the morning walking the strip malls. His closet is already stuffed, but Morgan has packed up all her things and left her room nearly empty. He could fill the space with things for Peter. He knows he doesn’t have a lot, but the kid never asks for anything. He’s always there when he and Morgan need a shoulder to lean on and he takes nothing for himself. But Peter is getting taller and his pants are turning into high waters. His shirts are all faded and the collars are stretched out. As good as Peter looks in everything he wears, he wants him to be confident in what he’s wearing. He wants to watch him strut his shit when he takes him out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What was supposed to be a few things here and there, turns into Tony filling the back seat of the Chevelle with clothes for Peter. He does it completely out of impulse. He doesn’t even give it a second thought as to why. Someone has to do it, Peter needs to focus on school, not the clothes he’s rapidly growing out of. His aunt obviously is neglecting the things the boy needs and Tony feels that urge to care for him, to fill the shoes she left empty.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He buys him far too many khakis because he likes that the color matches his eyes. When he picks up some boxers for him, Tony imagines the stretch over his <em>perfect</em> ass before quickly stuffing them into his basket and willing the image away, but they plague his mind for the rest of the morning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bucky and Steve left for Holbrook before Tony even got up so when he gets home, there’s no one to question where he’s been all day. He takes advantage of his time alone to shower and relieve himself of the tension he’s felt all day. Shopping for Peter was rewarding, but he didn’t take into account the way he would picture him in everything he bought for him and in turn picture himself stripping him of those same outfits. The way it’s all going to fit so nicely, how flattering it’s going to be on his perfect, untouched figure. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s slow, taking himself apart. He’s got time to enjoy himself, picture the kid on his knees under the stream, his lashes wet and his lips red and swollen from having them wrapped around Tony cock. It makes Tony’s heart pound in his chest just visualizing it. He’s gotten so good at this he can get lost and for a split second, it’s like he can feel the heat of Peters tongue, the tentative grasp of his hand. He can see the honey brown of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony comes silently, fingers digging into the tile while the hot water washes away the disgust he has for himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s still got a hour before Morgan gets out of school so he connects his Bluetooth to the speakers in the house and cranks up the AC/DC. He brings Jarvis upstairs and works on him in the kitchen. Time becomes an enigma while he works, all his worries are second to his work for at least a little while.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The sound of the front door opening is the first thing to draw Tony out of his head. He thinks it’s probably Morgan and Peter but when he glances at his watch he’s still got ten minutes before their school even lets out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Howard, with his hands in his pockets and a grimace on his face, steps into the dining room. “Nice to know your still showering.” He smirks, walking over to where Tony is working. “What is this hunk of garbage?” He fiddles with the computer, tugging a wire until it snaps. Great, Tony doesn’t even want to think about the damage he just caused. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s not garbage.” He defends himself quietly before standing and walking over to the bar to pour himself a drink. He was going to stay sober today, it’s the least he could do to see his daughter out. That is why she’s leaving, after all. But the sudden overbearing presence of his father pushes him over the edge.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Ahh, I see why she’s coming back home.” Howard points out<em>. First of all, fuck you, Howard. Second-</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“This is her home.” He speaks a little louder despite the panic creeping inside his veins. He can’t give his father the satisfaction of hurting him again, not today. Not when he’s already taking his little girl away from him again. “Oh stop kidding yourself. You don’t know the first thing about taking care of a kid. Look at you, you can’t even take care of yourself. You look like a fucking coloring book.” It’s a low blow but it’s not the first time he’s heard that. Howard never approved of anything he did, so why not go all out? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Howard steps away from Jarvis which Tony is relieved by. He stuffs his hands back into his pockets and shuffled around the room before stoping in front of the window and staring out it with a sigh. “And to think, you spend my money on this pile of shit place you call a home.” His money? It’s his Mothers share of the company that keeps Tony’s pockets full. It’s the only thing she had to leave him before she died. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony chooses to bite his tongue as he pours some bourbon into a glass and walks over to Jarvis. He scoops him up in one arm and doesn’t look back at his dad as he presses the button for the elevator to take him down. He doesn’t say a damn word as he goes down to the lab and drops off Jarvis before locking up his space and heading up the the garage. The last thing he wants is Howard snooping around his work space, demanding he get the design for the hologram. Over Tony’s dead body.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He works on a customers car so he has a chance to avoid his father but it doesn’t last long before Morgan’s Monte Carlo is pulling into the drive. Peter steps out of the passenger side, his hair is mused, probably from stress. He’s wearing Tony’s Metallica shirt and it makes his heart flutter. Thats his shirt on his boy, where it belongs. He wants to see Peter in everything he owns. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Morgan heads for the house but Peter makes his way into the garage to lean against the car and smile at Tony. After their talk last night, Peter hasn’t seemed to let up. He should have never brought it up, acted like nothing happened because now that Peter /knows/ there’s something there, he’s not going to let it go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What are you working on?” He asks, leaning over the frame with him. Tony is trying not to look at him but he’s failing miserably. He wants to pin his boy against the hood of the car and rip the shirt from his body.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When exactly he became his boy, Tony isn’t entirely sure.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Its a sixty eight Camaro.” His hands slips and he knocks his knuckles into the housing and splits the skin open. “Son of a bitch,” he whispers, searching around for his shop rag that he...finds in Peters hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Hello déjà vu</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Here, I’ve got you.” His eyes glance up, big and brown and shining in the sun. His lean fingers wrap around the bloodied knuckles and Tony feels like his knees are about to buckle. Peters lips are pouty and bitten red. He’s got to know how he looks right now, a sweet little smirk on his mouth and gentle hands. He’s doing this on purpose, he’s pulling Tony in and by god he knows that the older man can’t resist him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">He’s created a monster. </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Who’s going to be here to patch up your wounds when Morgan is gone.” It’s not so much a question, more like A observation followed up with a almost sad sigh. Peter looks down finally and Tony can take a moment to breath like normal again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I can take care of myself.” He fires back at him with a hiss when Peter wipes over the cut. “You wouldn’t have to if I was here.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What is he trying to do? Tony is a old man, ish, he’s going to have a aneurysm or something. Does Peter not understand the magnitude of this? The way it physically pains Tony to be so close? He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his fucking skin, he feels like at any moment he’s going to loose complete control of his body and lurch into the younger man. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Then stay here. Morgan’s room is empty. Your aunt doesn’t notice your missing half the time anyways.” He says, even though he knows full well how terrible of an idea that is. Morgan’s room might be empty, but it’s not her bed he’ll occupy if Tony has it his way. He’s is going to need a bigger closet. He’ll start construction tomorrow.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I think I’d like-“ the elevator songs open and out steps Howard. Out of pure instinct, Tony steps several feet back and knocks into his rolling tool box. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Jesus Tony, drunk already?” The man laughs darkly. Morgan is behind him carrying her bags, a sad smile on her face. “I’m not-I wanted to see you guys off.” He stammers and glances over at Peter. Of course that kids too smart, he reads the situation and glares daggers into Howard. “Let me help you with those Morgan.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter and Morgan carry the bags to Howard’s waiting car, only now Tony realizes there’s a driver inside, who probably saw the exchange between he and Peter. He can only hope the man doesn’t spill about their too close to be friendly conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Howard turns to him with a smirk. That man knows, he always know how to twist Tony, how to make him squirm, how to make him sick with frustration. “What are you going to do when she’s gone, huh? Now that Sargent fag has a job somewhere else, who’s going to watch out for little ol’ Anthony.” Tony doesn’t reply because he doesn’t want to feed into the fire. Howard just chuckles dangerously and pulls a cigar out of his breast pocket. He lights it with a flick and takes a long drag.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony hopes he chokes on the smoke and dies, but he could never be that lucky, could he?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>I’m going to watch out for him</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Scratch that, he’s the luckiest son of a bitch alive to have the kid stare at him like that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hope your cut out for it. Sickly little thing like you, probably couldn’t lift half of Tony. Be prepared to roll him in his side and stick a pillow under his head every night.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony doesn’t have any option but to stand back and watch the exchange because bless Peter, he’s braver than he looks. “Tony is a grown man. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, and you can mind your own business.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Tony reaches out and places what he hopes looks like a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay kid. Go help Morgan with her stuff, yeah?” He knows Peter will defend him until his last breath but it’s not worth the fight. Howard has done this Tony’s entire life and he’s made it this far, he can handle his father a little bit longer. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Howard heads to the car with a scuff, leaving Tony feeling abandoned and unwanted all over again. He’s a mistake, a burden. He was never wanted from the day he was born, even by the person who gave him life.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Ten minutes later and his baby girl is packed up and leaving him too. Her and Peter stand by the car and hug tightly. It’s his fault they have to say goodbye. He can’t keep his act together and these kids are suffering because of it. Worst of all, Tony isn’t sure he minds. It’s just him and Peter now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Just him and the underaged boy who makes him feel things he’s never, ever felt before.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Here. If my dad teaches you to drive it, you can drive the Monte Carlo while I’m gone. I’ll have plenty of ways to get around up there and I know you’ll take care of her. This way you have no excuse for not coming to visit.” She smiles wide and hugs Peter again. They both have tears trickling down their cheeks as they say their goodbyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Her goodbye to Tony is nowhere near as heartfelt. She doesn’t leave him a car, doesn’t cry and hug him like she’s trying to squeeze the air out of him. No, they’ve been over there far too many times.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Take care Dad. Don’t make Peters regret checking in on you, please.” She hugs him from the side and he drops a kiss to her head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I won’t...I’m sorry, sweetheart.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She doesn’t respond. She gets in the car and Tony makes one last look at his father. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“See you at your funeral, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With that, the man gets in the car and it drives away, away from Tony, once again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>“I wish he’d drop dead.”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">For once in his life, they aren’t his words.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Isn’t Howard a mother fucking piece of SHIT. </p><p>Also, how was everyone’s weekend? What did you guys get up to? We had a Kegger! My dumbass roommate and their lead guitarist (my fiancé is the Raytheon guitarist, roommate is the drummer, brother is the base) stole a fucking keg out of a beer truck when they were blacked out drunk, carried it across two parking lots and somehow managed to not be caught on camera. I’m not aloud to tell anyone buttttt you guys have no clue who I am so what the fuck do you care! 😂 anyways, we cracked that bitch open this weekend. Turns out it’s Sierra Nevada. Super yummy. Bunch of idiots. </p><p> </p><p>What do you guys think of Howard? I PROMISE next chapter I’ll give you guys something worth coming for. 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Enter May Parker. Kinda.</p><p>Warnings for this chapter: drug overdose but not in detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They watch the car disappear down the street together, both with a solemn look plastered on their red faces, trying their best to hold it together. Morgan is gone from their lives for the next two months and there’s nothing left for them to bounce off of. It’s just them now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony shuffles his feet around for a second before looking over at Peter. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go get something to eat? There’s this really good little deli in Manhattan that I used to go to with Morgan when she was a kid-“ Peter gives him a look, one eyebrow quirked and a confusing expression. “You want to take me to <em>Manhattan</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony stuffs his hands into his grey slacks pockets and bites into his bottom lip. “Yeah? If you don’t want to, we could stay in. I’ll make you some Carbonara?” Peters disgruntled look turns to something ecstatic. “Are you trying to take me out on a date, <em>Mr. Stark</em>?” The boy teases lightly. Is he? Is he trying to take the teenage boy out in a date, because that’s sure as hell how it sounds in his own head. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“We can do whatever your more comfortable with, yeah?” Peter lays a soft hand on his bicep and Tony can’t breath for a moment. <em>Damn you, Peter Parker.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony has never in his life felt this kind of emotion towards another person. He had crushes in high school, went on dates, hell, he thought he loved Pepper. All of that was crumbs compared to the things he felt for Peter. Never in his life has he felt such<em> earth shattering</em> desire. It’s forbidden and illegal and so fucking delicious. It makes Tony’s heart pound and his hands sweat. When he hears Peters name he can physically feel his cock throb in his pants and his veins corse with need. He’s insatiable, no matter how often he sneaks off to rub one out like a damn teenager. His body is so overly sensitive to the thought of that damn boy. It’s been years since he’s even felt affection towards another person, let alone lust.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I think...that I’d like to take you-“ he’s cute off by a phone ringing. He checks his pockets but it’s not his own, it’s Peters. Of course it’s Peters, it’s always him. Every time Tony thinks they are having a moment the universe smacks them upside the head.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hello?” The boy says, pressing the phone to his ear. Tony watches as his face goes from joy, to concern, to dread in a matter of a few seconds. “W-What happened? Is she...is she <em>alive</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>Is who alive?</em> And should Tony be staring the car? Probably, but he doesn’t want to leave Peters side incase he needs him. The younger let’s out a whoosh of air and looks up at Tony with tears breaching his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“My aunt is in the hospital, they-they said she overdosed.” He whispers so his voice doesn’t crack. “I’ll start the car, okay?” He reaches out and brushes his hand over Peters cheek as he quivers.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Take a deep breath baby, it’sgoing to be okay.” Tony turns quickly on his heal and walks into the garage where the Chevelle is parked. He gets in and starts it with Peter on his six. He’s still on the phone for most of the car ride to NYC Health and when he gets off he’s a crying mess, trying to curl into himself.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It aches in Tony’s chest to see his boy like this. All he wants to do is hold him and shield him from this fucked up world. He doesn’t deserve the things people put him through. He deserves the fucking world and by god, Tony is going to give him just that.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“C’mere, baby.” He opens up his arm and reaches for Peter, who scoots across the bench seat and curls right up against his side. He looks so dainty there, like he fits perfectly. “They said they aren’t sure if she’s going to wake up for a while. They don’t know what she took, if it was on purpose or-or...” he turns and curls his face into Tony’s neck with a sniffle. Now is not the time to get turned on, but tell that to Tony’s libido. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He shuffles a little and pulls into the parking lot of the hospital and parks in a spot near the emergency entrance. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Before Peter gets out of the car, Tony grabs his hand and urge the younger to look at him. “Whatever happens, I’m here, okay? I’m always here for you.” Peter gives him a sad little smile before turning and heading for the door with Tony not far behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">May is laying in a hospital bed with tubes connecting to her mouth. She’s got wires hanging out under her hospital gown and her eyes are closed but everything is stable. The doctor tells Peter that she’s in a medically induced coma while her body flushs the toxins from her body and goes through the detoxing process. She looks pale. It’s the first time Tony has actually ever seen her. She looks exhausted with black bags under her eyes and her face is sunken in. Tony would recognize the look anywhere, from years of drug addiction and abuse. This must have been what his parents saw when they decided to send him to the Army. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Do you guys know what she took?” Peter is sitting in a chair beside her bed with her hand in his own even though it’s limp. “She has a combination of fentanyl and oxycodone. From our best estimates, she’s been self medicating with prescription pain killers. She has a prescription for it so she can’t be prosecuted for anything. She probably got some from a dealer that cut these with fentanyl.” The doctor injects something into her IV drip and steps away. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“She’s going to be asleep for a few days. You are welcome to stay, but she’s not going to wake up for a while. I’m sorry son. She’s lucky she was at work when this happened, her heart stoped. She would have died if she was anywhere else.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter takes the news hard and lays his head on the bed to cry. He stays there for at least a hour and Tony watches over him from the corner the entire time. Eventually, he falls asleep against the mattress. Tony takes a minute to walk outside and grab a smoke, it’s been one stress filled day and he deserves this. The evening air is warm and refreshing compared to the chemical smell in the hospital room.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He remembers the feeling of being in Peters place, a young boy watching his mother die. That’s no place for a kid. He shouldn’t be laying in that room when all she’s going to do is lay still. It’s not going to help him, it’s not going to help her. He puts out the smoke and stops by the cafeteria to grab Peter something to drink. When he gets back to the room, it’s nearly dark outside. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter is groggy but he’s awake. His eyes are red but dry and his curly hair is a mess. “Hey,” his voice is scratchy from sleep. He loves the sound of his voice when he wakes up. “I brought you something to drink.” He offers the cup and sits beside Peter this time. The younger man takes a few sips before rubbing his eyes. “Why don’t we go home for a little while, huh? At least till morning? She’s going to be okay until then.” Tony reaches out and let’s his hand rest in his thigh, squeezing gently. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll make you something cheesy and you can just lay in bed the rest of the night, watch a movie?” Tony rubs soothing circles into his soft skin and the boy leans into his touch. Tony tells himself it’s good Peter is seeking comfort, he wants to be able to help him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Will you stay with me?” He says quietly. Tony smiles at him softly before standing. “Of course I will. Let’s get out of here, huh? It’s getting late and she needs all the rest she can get.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The drive home is quiet and uneventful. Tony turns in the old radio to help distract Peter, but he’s so caught up in his own thoughts, staring out the window and gnawing in his bottom lip. When they pull into the driveway, Peter doesn’t move more than a inch. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony shuts the old car off and looks over at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the multiple bags in the back seat and smile.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hey...stop thinking. Come over here.” He offers his open arms and Peter takes the opportunity and scoots over again but this time Tony doesn’t have to focus on the road so he slides an arm around him and the other cards through his hair. He’s no longer shaking and what’s left over of the anxiety has simmered down. Peter doesn’t even have it in him to cry this time.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but I did a little shopping for you this morning. If anything doesn’t fit, we can bring it back tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peters head perks up and he can see the tired grin on his face. “<em>You</em> went shopping? Like actual, out of the house shopping?” Tony chuckles at him and brushes the thick curls back away from his face. “Well, yeah...you deserve nice things.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They stare at each other for what feels like a life time, but it’s probably not any more than a few minutes. Peter doesn’t even look back at the bags, just memorizes Tony’s features in the glow of the dashboard lights. Peter looks beautiful dusted in the soft blue tones.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I don’t want to play this game anymore, Tony.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">For a few moments, Tony feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. Was this a game to Peter? Did he think Tony was toying with him? Was nothing the younger man did or felt real?</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What...what are you talking about?” He gulps, not wanting the answer hes already sure he’s going to get. Peter doesn’t want him. Peter never wanted him. How could he? He’s thirty five with a list of faults longer than Peters arm. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Dancing around each other. I’m too tired. I don’t want to play any games tonight, please...I just want to be with you. <em>Please</em>, Tony.” The younger man slips away from his protective arm and slides between him and the steering wheel, straddling him. Hes light on Tony’s lap where he cages him in between his thighs, his arms draped around Tony’s neck. He can feel his breath painting his face, their eyes searching each other for answers. Tony sees a whirlwind of emotions in Peters eyes. He wants to calm those storms, kiss the length of Peters body until his mind is clear.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I wasn’t going to play games tonight, Pete. You can have whatever you want. Say the word and it’s your, baby.” He sinks his stained, rough hands into Peters hips to pull him that much closer. Of course Tony is already half hard. It makes Peter blush deliciously, sucking his lip into his mouth and bitting down on it before releasing it. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Kiss me</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">That’s all Tony needs to hear before he’s finally, <em>finally</em> closing the gap between them in a gentle kiss. He feels the urgency in his bones but he holds onto himself because kindness is what Peter needs right now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The kiss is wet and warm. He can’t pinpoint exactly what Peter tastes like because he’s too overwhelmed with the idea of kissing the boy. His lips are soft compared to Tony’s. Their inexperience is no match for the desire between them and any sloppiness is abandoned for pure joy. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony kisses him messily, letting their lips melt together before his tongue slips into the mix. He finds no resistance as he turns his head to the side and arches himself up into Peter. The smaller pushes back, letting out a soft sigh that makes Tony’s entire body quake. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Kissing Peter is a<em> dream</em>, one Tony didn’t even know existed before him. He had no idea that he could feel like this for someone else. He didn’t know he could reach ecstasy from just <em>kissing</em> another person. He slides his hands under Peters shirt and up his spine to hold him closely as their mouths press together. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">How they go from gentle, sensual kisses to frantic slides of tongue and nips is beyond the two of them. They are so lost in each other, holding on for dear life like the other might lurch away at any second. Peter rolls his hips and it’s all over, Tony can’t hold himself back anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He hisses as the drag of his zipper along his straining cock and by the feel of it, Peter is just as worked up as he is. “You are a dream.” He groans into the kiss and rucks the shirt up Peters sides until the younger man pulls it over his head, panting, before diving back in with a sweet little moan. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peters fingernails scrape into Tony’s stomach trying to get closer, to draw another groan from his slacked mouth. He bites down on Tony’s bottom lip and pulls it, leaving Tony a withering mess before him. He doesn’t know how experienced Peter is at this, but Tony doesn’t exactly have a reference. This is the first time he’s ever even touched another man. He doesn’t have a lot to go off of other than drunken kisses and forced reunions for him and Pepper.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Kissing Peter is the first thoughtless act he’s ever done. He’s the first person he’s ever been so open with kissing, letting their spit coat each others mouths and leave their chins shinny. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter leans back when Tony moves down to his throat, covering it in open mouthed kisses. He licks over his adamsapple and bites down on the junction of his throat while the brown eyed boy rolls his hips sinfully. Tony is hard as a fucking rock, groaning into Peters neck and trying his best to keep it together. He doesn’t want to bust his load before Peter even gets close. Then who’s the teenager here, huh?</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck, Tony...you feel so<em> big</em>. I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.” Peter sounds unsure of his words at first but by the end he’s pushing down against Tony again. The words go straight to Tony’s cock as the images fly through his mind, unstoppable. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He can’t hold it anymore. Forgive him because he might not be Peters age anymore, but he’s just as touch starved. All it takes is a few teasing brushes of Peters cock against his own through their jeans and he’s coming. His dick twitches painfully in his confides as he comes, his head falling back with a ridiculously loud groan. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He’s up in the clouds for a embarrassingly long amount of time, his hips twitching even though his strong hands wrench on Peters hips to hold him still. Everything is too sensitive in his state of nirvana and the only thing that draws him out of it is Peters soft kisses on his exposed neck. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I can’t believe I just did that.” He groans and lets his head fall back against the headrest, finally releasing Peters hips. He’s so fucking ashamed of himself he doesn’t even want to open his eyes. Peter defiantly couldn’t want him now. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Me either,” Peter says, his voice still dripping in lust. <em>“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” </em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What do you guys think of Tony’s mental state? I want to hear your theories about why he is the way he is!!</p><p>Also super sorry on the late as fuck update, I’ve been really stressed. I just dropped 20 large on a 2017 Honda Accord and my payments are like $430 a month. Let me tell y’all, if you haven’t bought a car before, it SUCKS</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heres 2k worth of straight up porn because you guys are good to me and you deserve it. </p><p>Warnings for this chapter: unprotected sex</p><p>I’m not going to tell you guys what to do like most people do when they say “please practice safe sex” because we’re all old enough to access the internet. Do whatever the fuck you want. But unsafe hetero sex leads to babies y’all. I would know. I have one. And she’s cute as FUCK.</p><p>Enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He can’t believe that this is happening. It’s actually fucking happening. He’s kissing Tony <em>fucking</em> Stark.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He made Tony <em>fucking</em> Stark come in his pants like he’s seventeen again. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Really?” Tony’s voice is absolutely destroyed, his eyes are closed and he’s panting heavily. Even in the cool blue light, Peter can see the wet spot on the front of his grease stained jeans.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Let’s go inside.” Peter kisses softly up the side of Tony’s neck, just pressing his lips over the sensitive skin making the man bellow him shiver and sigh. “Yeah-Yeah okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter opens the door and grabs Tony’s hand to pull him out. “Wait, what about your bags?” Tony looks into the back and tries to grab for the bags but Peter groans and stops him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“We can worry about that tomorrow. Your thinking about <em>bags</em> when I’m trying to get you naked.” Peter laughs and pulls Tony out of the car before closing the door. They switch places and Peter leans against the car door with a playful smirk. Tony’s eyes rake over him and he realizes he’s still shirtless. He goes to wrap his arms around his middle when Tony grabs hands and pins them to his side. “<em>Don’t</em>. Let me look at you.” He growls, having found his confidence again. It looks sexy on him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He’s still half hard in his pants because he hasn’t gotten the chance to cum yet, but he’s not in any rush. He wants to take his time to enjoy this. “What do I look like?” He tempts and bites down in his swollen lip, eyes looking up under his lashes. He’s not dumb, he knows exactly what he looks like.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Like a <em>felony</em>.” Tony says and surges forward, smashing their mouths together again. They kiss against the side of the car for a few minutes before Tony lifts him effortlessly. He’s glad it’s well past dark or he’d be worried about the neighbors. Peters legs immediately wrap around the older man while he walks him towards the house, taking the steps to the front door expertly. If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d think Tony has done this before. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He gasps when his body hits the front door, the cold wood sending shocks through his bare skin. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh my god, <em>Tony</em>.” He gasps and slips his tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste him, be part of him. He wants to be covered in his spit and bites and cum by the time this night is over. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony pulls back to look at him with a wildness in his eyes. “I don’t ever want to stop doing this.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They make their way inside the house, Peter still wrapped around Tony and they stumble towards Tony’s room. On the way, Peter knocks a picture off the wall and some books off a shelf. When Tony tosses him into his bed, his elbow hits the lamp on the bedside table and it falls to the floor with a crash.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The mess behind them makes them laugh in euphoria, their grins bright and real. Peter has never seen Tony smile like this and it’s all for him, because of him. The bathroom light filters into the quiet room and the backlight makes Tony’s features appear dark. His eyes are warm and his hair sticks up all over the place. His beard is slick because they can’t keep their tongues to themselves. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter is basking in the warm lighting, naked chest covered in goosebumps because of the temperature change.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’ve never done anything like this before.”Tony admits, meeting Peters eyes and for the first time since they were in the car he looks unsure. Peter might be a virgin, but he sure as hell has a good idea of how this works and he doesn’t want to wait, not when Tony is right here. Not when it’s unsure if they will get a chance like this again.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“We should...start in the shower.” He decides and pushes Tony back. The older man goes willingly and steps away before pulling his shirt over his head. Tony is easily the sexiest man Peter has ever laid his eyes on. He’s got soft hairs dusting his chest and his tattoos are a kink Peter didn’t even know he had.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Well...I guess this is it. No going back.” Peter says as he reaches for the button his his jeans. Tony does the same and they take a deep breath together before dropping their jeans and boxers and-</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Holy fucking shit.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony is...Tony is <em>massive</em>. Like, more than average. Tony is like porn status. He’s thick and heavy looking. The head is pink from being over sensitive and confined. “Oh my god...” his eyes feel like they are going to bug out of his head. Peter isn’t small by any means, for his size he feels like he’d actually be considered big. But Tony is something else.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter couldn’t even fit all of that in his mouth, but he wants to try. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I should have known you were perfect everywhere.” Tony almost whispers and rubs the heel of his palm along his cock, pushing it down before wrapping his hand around it and stroking idly. They are still several feet away from each other, staring, taking it all in. “Turn around for me.” Tony commands.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter does just that, stepping out of his pants and kicking them before turning carefully, posing for the older man. He toes off his socks and looks over his shoulder with a soft smirk. He can see himself in the reflection of the mirror and he looks downright sinful. This has got to be working for Tony. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Start the shower and this is all yours.” He smirks and wiggles his ass a little. Tony moves faster than Peter expects, taking off to the bathroom where he hears the shower start. Peter follows behind him, cock bobbing as he jumps onto the counter and smiles sweetly. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony walks up between his spread legs while the shower warms up. The counter is cool on his ass but Tony is a furnace against his front. “Can I aadmit something to you?” Tony asks, running his fingers up Peters thighs and landing on his hips to pull him closer. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You can tell me anything, Tony.” He leans forward and kisses over the tattoo on the mans heart. He smells like motor oil and sweat but it’s all Tony. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’ve never felt like this about someone. I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my life. I’ve never even came more than once with someone but with the way tonight is going...” he chuckles and reaches a hand up to push Peters hair back. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Maybe you just didn’t find the right person. Have you ever been with man before?” Peter kisses up his chest and along his collar bone where he bites down. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony hisses and rolls his hips forward, making their dicks brush together and oh fuck yeah, Peter could get off on just that. He’s surprised he hasn’t embarrassed himself yet. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But then again, who would judge him? He made his lover cum in his pants a few minutes ago.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There’s a laugh and another roll of his hips. “If my dad knew I was touching you like this he’d probably have me killed. Even in the service, I had to keep those urges to myself. He had friends in there and I...couldn’t trust anyone.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God, how fucked up of a life did Tony have? Who could do all this to such a man? This sweet, kind, gentle soul. The man who looks at him like he holds the universe between his fingers. Peters so gone on him. “You don’t deserve the cards you were delt. You deserve so much more Tony.” He kisses his lips this time. It’s chaste and caring. Tony deserves to be treated like a a king. Tony deserves to be respected and listened to and treated like a fucking adult, not a failure. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I got you...that’s my reward.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peters heart fucking melts and there back at it like they never stopped, kissing hungrily and tripping over the shower mat when they step under the warm spray. The shower is just as nice as the rest of the house, lined in dark slate with two seats and a rainfall shower head.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony washes his body for him and Peter just stands there and enjoys the feel of the mans hands learning every curve of his body. He washes between his thighs and slides his soapy hand between his cheeks. The sudden intimacy makes Peter arch back into him and lean against the cool tile. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I want to try something.” Tony says against his shoulder, still washing him before letting the water rinse the soap away. Peters brain is too fried to process the words but he defiantly gets the message when Tony drops to his fucking <em>knees</em> behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He pushes his ass back and spreads his legs while Tony spreads him and slides a tongue over his hole. It’s so good-oh god it’s so fucking good. Tony’s tongue is hot and slippery, slopping over him before sliding inside. Peter might be a virgin, but he’s fucked himself plenty of times. He still remembers the day he and MJ ran from a security officer after stealing vibrators from Spencer’s at the mall.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony is three fingers deep inside of him in no time at all and it feels phenomenal. He’s diminished to a crying begging mess, rocking his hips backwards, whining for Tony to go deeper, to add more.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I should have known you’d be so eager. Can’t get enough, can you baby?” Tony stands but his fingers are still buried inside Peter, one curl downwards and they will be right on his prostrate. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck your self on my fingers, doll. I want to see how much you want it.” Peter does as he’s told because Tony’s voice is so demanding and certain. He was made for this. “Please-<em>Please</em> I need it, want you to fuck me Tony, c’mon, <em>please</em> I can take it.” His head drops back and Tony attaches his mouth to his neck, bitting down hard on his neck before reaching around and working his cock. Peter sees white, gasping loudly. The fingers inside of him curl down and thats it, he’s over the edge and spilling into Tony’s hand, crying his name while his knees buckle.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony holds him through it, kissing his shoulders and praising him for being so perfect. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He lets himself be dried off and then lifted into Tony’s arms as they walk back into the bedroom. Tony presses a button on the wall and the lights go out completely. There’s a full moon and the glow of the city to paint their skin in beautiful colors. Peter finds his strength and pulls Tony into the bed, pushing him back against the pillows. Tony looks like he’s going to protest, so he shushes him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You took care of me, now let me take care of you, yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The older man only nods and places his hands behind his head, getting comfortable. Peter searches through the night stand and finds a bottle of lube but-</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I haven’t had sex in a couple years so I haven’t really needed...but I’m clean, I had myself checked last year.” That’s all Peter needs to hear because the last thing he wants is any kind of barrier between them. He coats his hand and spreads lube across Tony’s thick length. It’s impressive up close, veined and heavy. Tony must have paid off a nymph or something because he’s defiantly well endowed. Even his balls are well proportioned, pulled up tight like Tony won’t last long at all. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter doesn’t need to be stretched, he isn’t new to this and Tony already worked him open. He likes the burn. He straddles Tony’s hips and reaches behind him to guide him against his hole. Tony’s breath catches below him and the older man watches him in the glow of the city. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When he starts to sink, Tony groans and looses control of his mouth because he starts to spew. “Oh, yes,” he bites his bottom lip hard. “Just like that, <em>fuck</em>, Peter you’re so tight.” His hips snap up slightly and nails Peter right in the prostrate, making him gasp. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He rides Tony like theres no tomorrow, rolling his hips like he’s practiced a million time, his nails digging into the flesh of Tony’s chest while the both of them make unapologetic sounds. Tony is sitting up half way, his head tipped back and his mouth open. His eyes are open but they are rolled so far back that all Peter can see is white. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He wants to make Tony feel this good every day for the rest of his god given life. Tony doesn’t make a sound for a moment, doesn’t even look like he’s breathing before he draws in a sharp breath and moans. “Oh god, don’t stop, <em>don’t fucking stop</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter feels sticky, they are both sweating, both chasing that second orgasm that is far more elusive than the first. Every slam of his hips has Tony groaning for more. Peter doesn’t know if he can keep this up because Tony keeps pressing against his prostate, he’s by far the biggest thing that’s ever been inside of his ass and he’s fit his vibrator and two fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He comes without warning, his hips stuttering over top of Tony, painting him in ropes of hot white. It must be what sends the older man over the edge because he curses and grabs Peter by his hips, holding him up so he can fuck into him and a <em>brutal</em> pace as he fills him. It’s a hot sudden rush that leave Peter trembling in his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It takes a long time before they manage tosettle their breathing. Tony is mostly soft but still seated inside of him. He’s petting Peters wet hair and kissing the top of his head when he gets his breathing under control. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter glances up under his sleepy eyes and sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I think I love you.” He yawns at the end and hides his face in Tony’s chest. Tony doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t yank away and he doesn’t give a sad sigh like Peter expects. He just smiles down at him and hums. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’ve never understood the meaning of those words until you.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter falls into a comfortable snooze and only slightly registers Tony cleaning him up and getting him under the covers before he’s out cold, wrapped in Tony’s arm.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What did you guys think? Steamy enough for you? 🧐😩</p><p>Get it, because shower sex? I’m punny</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: underaged smoking, binge drinking</p><p>Sorry I forgot to update this part. Did I mention I’m a POS?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When morning rolls around, Peter finds it hard to climb out of bed. He’s not sure how Tony is going to react, if he’s going toregret last night. He wouldn’t blame him, he knows what they did was not only illegal, but morally wrong. If he does end up regretting the night before, he doesn’t want to face that conversation still naked. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of Tony’s bed by the older mans panicked stammering. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It’s still early, the sun is just rising and he realizes they passed out pretty early. The man beside him is sprawled out on his back, an arm draped carelessly across the pillow above his head and the other is resting across his obscene abs. The dim morning light makes his skin glow blue and pink. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>He can’t stay here, nope, no matter how bad he wants. God, he wants.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When Tony wakes up, he’ll ask him to take him over to the hospital, but he knows May won’t be waking up. It still feels like something he needs to do. But, for now, he wants to treat his lover to breakfast, maybe he can buy his acceptance with food. He climbs out from under the covers and slips into one of Tony’s overly sized shirts and doesn’t bother putting anything on underneath. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He pads around quietly while he makes them some French toast and he has to stop ever so often to just smile and giggle to himself. Did that really happen? Cant get the image of Tony on his knees with his face buried in his ass out of his head. It’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His hole still feels loose and sloppy in the best kind of way. He flips the toast and hums to himself while he searches the fridge for some syrup. He knows there’s got to be some in here somewhere-</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I could get used to this.” Theres a warm hand sliding over his bare ass and he whips around to find a shirtless Tony ogling. “Don’t distract me.” He preens lightly, slapping his hand away. The older pouts and whines at him but moves out of his way so Peter can start filling their plates.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Can I keep you?” Tony’s voice is scratchy from sleep and his hair is a mess. It reminds Peter of the morning after Tony’s birthday, when Tony cried on his shoulder after breakfast. Tony’s strong arms wrap around his waist and kiss the exposed skin where the collar of the shirt hangs off his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Mm</em>-come on I’m going to burn this.” He sighs but let’s his head roll to the side so Tony can kiss up his neck. He manages to be the bigger person and work despite the constant open mouthed kisses to his skin. Tony let’s up after he offers a plate and they manage to sit down long enough to eat. So he can be persuaded by food, good to know.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I want you to try on the things I bought you. I spent half the day fantasizing about how you would look in it all.” Peter chokes on the bite he’s chewing. <em>Tony...thinks about him? </em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You fantasized about me?” He raises a brow at Tony who rolls his eyes. “You didn’t make it very easy on me, okay? How was I supposed to control my urges? Me, a man with very little morals.” Tony, cooped up for years with little contact with the outside world. Of course Peter made it hard on him and oh so easy at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter finishes his plate and steals a bite off Tony’s. “I fantasized about you too, you know.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Yeah</em>? Tell me about them.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter could get used to this banter. He’s got two months to soak it all up. Two months of being in Tony’s bed every night, feeling his breath on his shoulder while he sleeps. Two months of seeing him all slow and groggy in the morning, his hair wild and untamable. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You know how I always hung out with Morgan in the shop? I used to imagine you bending me over the cars you were working on. You’d be all greasy and sweaty and you’d grunt when you worked.” He’d take those hours and ran with them. Morgan would be to into her own work for either of them to notice the way Peter drooled over a hot and sweat drenched Tony.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony hums at that and takes another bite before standing. He’s got deep scratches in the bare skin of his chest that Peter hadn’t noticed until now. They stretch around the reactor in his chest, glowing softly. God, he did that. He marked Tony like he was his. Was Tony his? “Speaking of which, I was wondering if, after we see your aunt, you’d like to help me with Jarvis? I could use your input.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The older man grabs their empty plates and walks them over to the sink where he washes them and sets them in the dish washer. “I’d love to help you with him, but I’m sure you could do it just fine on your own.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony dried his hands on the towel hanging on the cabinet below the sink. “Yeah but doing it is always funer with you.” He throws a smirk Peters way and the words shoot right to his groin.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They have a lot of things to do, but they can wait a little longer. Besides, visiting hours aren’t until eight. Instead, he convinces Tony to bend him over the kitchen counter and fuck him until he can’t walk straight, holding his hips so tight they bruise. Tony is a talker during sex, which Peter doesn’t mind. He likes to hear him curse under his breath, the way he praises him loud enough he can hear it over the slap of their skin. Tony yanks his head back by his hair, bites on his neck before sputtering out,<em> “You like that? You look so full around my cock. So fucking little, Pete.” </em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Sex in the kitchen turns out to be great because they don’t have to go far to get a glass of water after. Tony makes his way onto the balcony with a cup of coffee and lights a cigarette. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“Can I try that?” Peter asks, sipping from his steaming cup, still naked from the waist down and the back of the shirt feels cool and wet from Tony painted him in</span> his cum.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You aren’t even old enough to smoke. If I got caught giving tobacco to a minor I could get in some serious trouble.” Tony takes a long drag off it and smirks. “Oh, but we’ll leave out the <em>fucking</em> me part, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The morning sun is shining through the clouds and lighting up sky in a warm yellow and pink. The air smells like chlorine from the pool and there’s a dull sound of the city around them that never really fades. “Oh, of course,” Tony turns to him and pulls him against his chest, flipping the cigarette in his hand. “Breath in, then breath in a second time when you pull off. Don’t hold it too hard or you’ll cough. Let it out nice and slow and don’t be afraid of it. It can sense your fear.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter does exactly what the older says and takes a long drag. It’s not so bad and it makes his head feel a little swimmy. He even manages not to cough his brains out. Tony looks amused and somewhat impressed. “I was thinking...if were going to do this, we should probably figure out some ground rules, you know? So we’re on the same page about things. As much as I want to fight you, I know your too stubborn for your own good.” They pass the cigarette between them as they talk.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Well I already get the basics, don’t tell anyone. Like, anyone anyone. That just makes things complicated. I guess it’s a good thing you don’t see a whole lot of people and Bucky was trying to make it happen.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony quirks one of his dangerously too sexy eyebrows at the statement. Oh, did Tony not know? Was that a thing? He had to know. “Bucky knows?” Peter can’t help the excited yelp he returns. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh he defiantly knows! He gave me this speech about how age is just a number and that he and Steve are so far apart in age. That you deserve to be happy.” The light easy moment slows to something serious when Tony turns towards him and pulled him closer. “He said that?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter has to stand on his top toes and then some to press his lips to Tony’s gently. “Do you doubt that he meant it? Or that it’s true?” Tony looks to the left in response like he’s trying to hide from Peters loving gaze. “Tony...you deserve to be happy. I’m going to make you so fucking happy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony drops Peter off at the hospital and heads back to the shop to work for a few hours. His body is still devastated with adrenaline and lingering afterglow from their morning fuck. He hasn’t felt this light and care free in years, if ever. He finishes up a few jobs when the energy starts to wear off. His work becomes frustrating and his mind starts to wonder. Without Peter with him, it’s easy to get lost in the anxiety. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">What is he even thinking? <em>Fucking a fifteen year old kid?</em> Is he insane? He still has enough ties to the company that this would sink them. He would end up in prison and worse, Peter would be all alone. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Is this what Morgan felt when Damien took advantage of her? Tony remembers sitting in the court room, thinking about all the ways he wanted to kill that man. Now that the roles have reversed, why does he feel any better about what he’s doing? He’s taking advantage of a young boys lack of experience, he’s running him. Peter is going to need therapy when he’s older. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He drags himself away from a starter job and finds a bottle of scotch in the bar upstairs. It’s been hours since he dropped Peter off, he’ll probably be calling for a ride soon but Tony is so caught up in his own mess of a mind that he leaves his phone in the shop while he puts back half the bottle. He forgets about lunch which turns into dinner. He’s swimming in his own mind.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He props himself up on the couch with the bottle in his hand, flicking through the TV hoping his mind can settle on something. He doesn’t even register the angry slam of the front door until Peter is standing in front of him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, baby boy.” He staggers out and tries to sit up but his stomach lurches. Peter doesn’t look happy. Morgan looks at him like that when he’s royalty fucked up.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Tony...what are you doing? How much have you had to drink? I’ve been trying to call you for <em>hours</em>.” He removes the bottle from his hand and Tony takes the opportunity to grab him by his waist a little too harshly. “C’mere baby, want to kiss you.” He drags the smaller, helpless boy to his lap as he squirms. “Tony-no, you reek like alcohol.” His nose turns up and he pushes against Tony’s reactor to get away. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“C’mon, what’s gotten into you? Thought you were <em>dying</em> for my cock, huh? Lemme give it to you, bend you over the couch.” Peter pushes harder now. Tony doesn’t register letting him go because his head lols back as the room spins like some kind of fucked up carnival ride. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Your not touching me till you sober up. Come on, you need to lay down.” Peter tugs on his arm but Tony is dead weight on the cushions. This seems like a nice place to remain for the rest of his life, so out of his mind that he doesn’t have to worry about what a piece of shit he is.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t lie, you want me touching you. You and your little fantasies. Bet I could have taken you to bed on my birthday. You would have let me fuck you till I had enough, left you in my bed gaping like the little slut you are. Can’t get enough of your best friends old man, <em>huh</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony’s ramblings are cut off by a crude, sharp pain across his right cheek. His vision goes splotchy and he gasps for the air that’s mocked out of him. Did Peter just...slap him? <em>He probably deserved that.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t talk to me like that. Get up, your taking a shower.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony looses time in between the cool shower, where he finds himself laying in Peters lap with the water rushing over him while the boy slides his hands through his hair. He feels like he’s sobering up a little, his mind isn’t as hazy and his anxiety is returning full force. Peters hands are gentle despite the anger they held not long before. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I raped you.” He tried to pick his head up but Peter tugs him by his hair. “Stop it, Tony. Your saying things you don’t mean. I wanted that. I rode you, remember?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The water gets warmer after a second, Tony registers that Peter is changing the temperature as he comes to, which means Peter has been suffering in the cold too. “M’no better than Damien.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter rolls him onto his back and leans down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. When Tony opens his eyes the bathroom is dark with only the light from the bedroom streaming in. Peters eyes are red rimmed like he’s been crying. Christ, Tony is just the cherry on the top of this screwed up Sunday isn’t he?</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I know what I’m doing. Im not going to change my mind about you, okay? I want this. I want <em>you</em>. Come back to me Tony.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They lay like that for hours. At some point, Tony throws up down the drain. He’s lucky there’s only liquid in his stomach of Peter would be left with quite a mess, but his boy just rubs his back through it, telling him that he didn’t mess up, that this wasn’t his fault. That he’s okay.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It’s dark when Tony feels like himself enough to get out of the shower and dry off with Peters help. They make it into the room and curl under the blankets. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter takes it upon himself to wrap his arms around Tony and pull him against his chest, drawing in quiet breaths and petting down his back patiently. <em>Tony doesn’t deserve him, not in the slightest. </em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yes you do.” He hears him say. “Was I thinking aloud?” Tony chuckles and rolls over to press a kiss against the kids solid chest. “Yes, you have been all night. I haven’t seen you this drunk before. What triggered you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Tony bites his tongue because he doesn’t want to snap at Peter for referring to him like he’s broken. Instead, he quiets his rage with a deep breath and looks up at Peter. “I started thinking about...about how young you are. How Morgan must have felt when he did that to her. You don’t deserve this mess.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter kisses him on the lips this time, it still takes Tony’s breath away. “Baby...you still don’t get it, do you? You aren’t a mess, to me your not. Your amazing and caring and I’d do anything for you. Your just a little cracked, you aren’t broken. I’m not going to give up on you because you have faults. I chose this a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It doesn’t fix everything, but it quiets Tony’s fears for long enough that he can close his eyes and drift off. Peters lips pressed carefully against his skin helps a lot too.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys, sorry I haven’t posted in a while! I’ve been soooo busy. I started working as a preschool teacher, got a ear tattoo and a new piercing (I’m up to 9 now!) my baby has had a ear infection in a while and she’s having such a hard time. Also my best friend is cheating on her fiancée with my roommate so that’s ALSO fucking wild. Also, I did some FUCKED UP drugs like three weeks ago in Las Vegas in a the MGM grand right before they shut down because of the Rona. Proceeded to drive home at 128mph because that’s where my car tops out. Is it weird I enjoy telling you guys about all this? Are you guys my therapist? Is this a very unhealthy coping mechanism? Yes, I believe so. Do I write 95% of my works chain smoking? I also believe so.  </p><p>Anyways, how have y’all been? 😂</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I live for comments and feedback. Thoughts so far?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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